


elastic heart

by ymorton



Series: mpr*g [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Kid Fic, Lactation, M/M, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 95,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's the biggest scandal of the decade. No, the century.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>future fic mpreg, set in 2017.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> !!! four months later! 
> 
> a thousand thank-yous to laura/herstrionics for reading so much of this and listening to me whine and telling me what felt right and what didn't. luv you luv you. thank you kari for responding to one of the epilogues with "wait should i tell you specific things that made me cry or more general?" THANKS to everyone on tumblr who read/reblogged/sent messages about this universe, your patience and interest means a lot to me. i've never written something this long, and i've definitely never, ever written mpreg before, so. it's a day of firsts! 
> 
> notes re: the universe - i basically don't address any of the questions that come with cis men getting pregnant. because... i don't know and i don't care. very little science, lots of feelings. i could have written about a million more words and it still feels incomplete but oh well.
> 
> title is from the [Sia song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWZGAExj-es)!  
> assorted fic bits/extras are in [this tag](http://ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com/tagged/preg)  
> come talk to me [here](ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com)

It's the biggest scandal of the decade. No, the _century_. The biggest, maddest, awfulest scandal, and Nick, as a broadcaster and as an Englishman, is truly broken up about it. 

"Oh my _god_ , the photo they've used of Liam," he says into microphone, on air on a Monday morning in July, one full day after One Direction - currently on tour in America for their sixth studio album - has decided to cancel - well, postpone - the rest of their dates and the writing of their next record. "He looks- wow." 

"It is pretty amazing," Ian says, peering at the Heat magazine Nick has open in front of him on the desk.

"He looks like he's about to tell someone off!" Nick says, laughing. "He looks like he's fully ready to _go in_. And _ooh_ , look at that rock on his finger, I like that they zoomed in on that, it's massive." 

"Can we stop gossiping about One Direction and get back to the radio, Nicholas?" Matt says. 

"No, we can never stop gossiping about One Direction's big breakup," Nick says. "This is an _awful_ day for pop music. Do you see all the people crying on the text? Do you? Effie from Hertfordshire is in a serious depression." 

"They haven't broken up, they're taking a break," Matt says patiently. 

"Every time someone's said that to me, it's meant breaking up." 

"Awwww," Ian and Fiona chorus, and Nick flips them off, laughing. 

"Oh shut up, Fi-fi." 

"1D's brotherhood is stronger than any relationship you've ever had, Nick," Matt laughs.

"That's a bit nasty!" 

"That _was_ a bit nasty," Ian adds, backing him up. Good bloke, Ian.

"It was a little bit nasty," Matt laughs. "Sorry. Play the next record, please, Nicholas, so we can get to the news by 9:00."

"Oh, fine. We've got some Swifty up next." 

He hits play, and yanks the magazine out of Ian's grip, scans the article. 

 _Five Directions?_ it's titled, which is a bit weak. _Why the world's biggest boyband is splintering and what fans can expect_. 

Nick chews his bottom lip, digs out his phone. It's been a while since he's spoken to Harry - a while longer since he's _seen_ him in the flesh - but still. He can't just not text him. 

_You alright? Tell me niall didn't really scream at liam for getting hitched. The papers are going mad!! Hope you're well_

He contemplates an 'x' for about four straight minutes, all the way through a new Rudimental song, and then hits send without adding it. 

He turns his phone over right away, says cheerily into mic, "That was  the latest off Rudimental, _love_ that record, and yes, Finchy, I see you, stop wavin' at me like a bloody traffic cop. It's 9 AM, so here's the news with Chris Smith."

He pushes the mic away from his face, gives his phone a quick check. Nothing. 

He wouldn't be surprised if Harry doesn't text back. Not that they aren't still mates, because they are. They're mates, and they spent a good chunk of Harry's four-month holiday last year holed up in Nick's flat shagging their dicks off. 

It's just - Harry is Harry, and always will be. 

Nick checks his phone again, and then sets it down. 

"Need a wee," he says, and Matt looks up from the computer, sternly. 

"Nick-" 

"Just do two songs, _please_ ," Nick says, and he pushes his chair back, because not only is he seriously about to piss down his leg, his stomach's going nauseous and wobbly. He knew that canteen egg was undercooked, just like it was yesterday morning, and last week. He'll need to make a complaint.

He locks the toilet door behind him, stares at the toilet for a second, wildly, not sure if he's going to wee or vomit, and then abruptly drops to his knees and does the latter. 

He heaves up a nasty mix of bile and coffee and egg, barely digested, and then spits a few times, eyes watering. How unpleasant. He better not have the bloody flu. 

He staggers to his feet, and flushes it down before unzipping his jeans to wee. Fuck that egg, and fuck the canteen, and fuck this whole morning too. He shouldn't have sent that stupid text to Harry. 

Matt's just hitting play on the second song after the news when Nick lets himself back into studio, wiping the corners of his mouth, chewing a piece of gum he stole out of Fiona's jacket. 

"Am I back on time?" he asks, poking Matt's shoulder. "Am I, Finchy? Ammmm I?" 

"You're a pain in my arse," Matt says, smacking his hand away. "Sit down." 

Nick slides into his chair, laughing, and picks up his phone. 

His heart jumps and his empty stomach clenches.

 _I'm not doing that great_ , Harry's texted back, and Nick stares at it, wide-eyed. _i mean i'm fine. Just sad, i guess. I might get away for a while. Like really away. Need a break . x_

Nick puts his phone down as the song ends, babbles something coherent into mic, but his mind won't stop running over the text. _Just sad, I guess_. Fucking hell, poor popstar. The tabloids used to gossip about Harry going solo, but the truth is he never, ever would, at least not until everyone else had fucked off. He'd be the last one at the table. He fucking _loves_ his band. 

Nick pulls his phone towards him as the Showquizness music plays, reads the message again, until Ian pokes his shoulder, yanks the phone out of his hand and turns the screen black with a click of his thumb. 

Nick pulls a face at him, and says brightly into mic, "Alll-right! Welcome to Showquizness! We have a new caller today, don't we, Matt? Is Annie on the line? Annie, you there? Hiya, Annie!" 

\---

He gets a cab back to his flat after the production meeting, gets stuck in traffic on the way, and decides quite stupidly to call Harry. He's not even sure where Harry is - Texas, maybe, that's where One Direction was for their last show, not that anyone knew it was their last then. Maybe in LA. Maybe in Idaho at the resort he always retreats to in the depths of the boiling American summer. 

He picks up the phone, though. Harry is pretty good at always picking up. 

"Hello?" 

"Harold," Nick says, sticking a fingernail into his mouth, staring out the window. "Hello!" 

"Hey, Grim." 

"You alright? I mean, no, you're not alright, you already said that, but like. What's going on? You're not, like, spiraling, are you? Stay away from the coke, alright?" 

"Nick, you're the only person I've ever done coke with," Harry says, sounding amused. His voice is tired, though. 

"Is that true?" Nick says, flattered. "Honestly? Wow. I should put that in my autobiography." 

"Writing an autobiography now?" 

"Oh, you haven't heard? It's gonna spill all the details on Matt Fincham and his tyrannical production of the Radio One Breakfast Show. The world will be _shocked_." 

Harry huffs out a laugh. "Can't wait." 

There's a pause, and Nick inhales, slowly. 

"Honestly, though," he says. "Is it gonna be alright?" 

Harry doesn't answer for a second. 

"I don't know," he says, finally, voice so low Nick has to strain to hear. "I don't know if it's gonna be alright. I don't know if we're ever going to finish the tour. I don't know if the album's gonna get finished. I don't fucking know anything and no one will tell me anything and I hate it. I fucking hate this, Nick." 

Nick shuts his eyes. 

"Shit. I'm sorry," he says, roughly.

"Yeah," Harry says, sounding thick and close to tears. _Damnit_. "Yeah. It sucks." 

"Why won't anyone tell you anything?" 

"I dunno," Harry chokes "I just, like. Liam got married, and - and yeah, it fucking sucked that he didn't tell us, because, like, what? We're his fucking - we're supposed to be brothers, and he didn't, who cares if he was drunk and in Vegas, but - but then Louis wouldn't write with him and everything started to go mad and we tried, Nick, like, we tried to keep just playing shows, but - but-" 

He stops, exhales loudly, harshly into the phone. 

"Haz," Nick breathes. 

"I really hate this," Harry says, voice forced steady. "And I think I need a break. I need like a massive break, I think that's what we all need, I think we just - we just need to take a break from each other until we're all, like, happy again." 

Well. Nick winces, opens his eyes. 

"Yeah?" 

"I dunno, I guess." Harry sniffs in hard. "I'm - I'm gonna, like, tie up some loose ends, finish some stuff I was working on, and then, like. I dunno. Jeff has this island." 

"An island?" Nick says, leaning back against the seat. His head's spinning like he's going to throw up again. He tries to breathe deep. "Like, where?" 

"It's in the British Virgin Islands, I think," Harry says. "I dunno exactly. He said I can - I can stay there for as long as I want, and I just. I think I just need to figure some stuff out." 

"That's very cliche of you, popstar," Nick says softly. 

Harry huffs out a rough sad laugh. "Yeah, well, we're a bit of a cliche these days, apparently." 

"Oh, love." 

"I know, I know. I just. I know it's kind of stupid." 

"It's not stupid." Nick sucks in a breath. "It's not. If it's what you need, Haz. Fuck what they say." 

"I know." 

"Just come back someday, yeah? Don't get lost at sea, you're not Tom Hanks." 

Harry laughs again. "Nice callback, Grim." 

"Always got an ancient movie reference on hand. Like an encyclopedia of film, me." 

There's another pause. 

"If I'm in London, I'll call," Harry says, quietly.

"Alright, Hazza." 

"I'm - I'm sorry. You know. About, uh, about the spring." 

Nick swallows hard. "Yeah. Me too." 

Harry breathes softly into the phone. 

"Take care, Nick," he says, voice small. "I - like. Just. Good-bye, I guess." 

Nick swipes his wrist over his eyes. 

"You be careful," he says. "Alright? Don't get eaten by a shark." 

Harry laughs wetly. "No sharks." 

"And no dolphins, I don't trust dolphins." 

"You're so weird," Harry says softly. "Bye, Nick." 

Nick swallows again, shakily. "Bye, Harold."  

Harry hangs up, and Nick sits there frozen for the rest of the ride. 

\---

Back in his flat, his cozy familiar flat he always vowed to move out of if he ever started something serious with someone - _ha,_ that hasn't happened, has it - he makes himself a cup of tea, drinks it at the kitchen table, scrolling through his emails and answering none of them. 

 _God_ , the spring. "The spring" is code for a weekend at the end of May, when Harry flew back to England for a weekend during tour because his great-aunt passed away. The funeral was in Cheshire and then Harry came to London, didn't tell anyone, came straight to Nick's flat, and Nick had no clue what to expect. 

He certainly didn't expect to open the door to Harry Styles, rain-soaked and wild-eyed, or the way they got drunk, falling-down sad weepy drunk together on Nick's sofa, or how Harry put his face against Nick's chest and started to cry. 

They fucked, too, but it's harder for Nick to remember that bit. He really was drunk. He just remembers Harry pushing into him on the bed, both of them gasping, Nick's back arching as Harry fucked him. He remembers slurring beforehand, _who've you been fucking, huh, Styles_ , and Harry saying back _no one_ , which was almost certainly a lie, but Nick let Harry shag him bare, come inside him anyway. It felt like a good idea at the time, felt messy and right and dirty in a way Nick needed. Harry's always clean, anyway, so Nick wasn't that worried. Harry always gets tested, and he's always clean, and he'd never fuck Nick if he wasn't, Nick knows that. 

That was the last time he saw Harry. They passed out in a heap, and when Nick woke up Harry was gone- early flight back to the U.S., and an apologetic text on Nick's phone, because Harry had a show in about twelve hours. 

Nick takes a sip of his tea. It was a weird night, that. Weird of them to be that drunk, weird that Harry was in town, weird that Nick let Harry fuck him bareback, weird that they cried. It was all just. Weird. Like a dream. 

Speaking of weird. He pulls up a new email to the office manager at the BBC, types: 

_Hi Lola,_

_This is going to sound very diva but I think the canteen's not been cooking the eggs properly. I keep getting ill after breakfast and I've had poached eggs for the last-_

Hang on. He vommed Tuesday, and Tuesday he had cereal, from Matt's stash in the kitchen. 

He wrinkles his nose. Hmmm. Anyway. 

 _\- for the last week or so. If you could just_ - 

Nick stops again, fingers stilling on the keyboard. 

He had cereal on Monday, too. And last week he hadn't even _had_ breakfast before he got sick, at home, in the en-suite while Pig looked on and whined helplessly. 

Nick stares at the screen. 

"No," he says, out loud, very calmly. He shakes his head. "Nope." 

The cursor blinks at him steadily, maddeningly. 

"No," Nick repeats. "No, no, no. That's not. No." 

He puts his hands in his lap. 

It's just the flu. He has the flu. He has, like, a morning flu. A breakfast flu. That's a thing, right?

Oh god. That's a thing, and it's called morning sickness, and it means-

"No!" he says to his empty kitchen, voice going high. "No! Absolutely fucking not!" 

Nick takes pills - when he remembers to, at least - and he uses condoms. Nick uses condoms, and so do the men he sleeps with, and he's not an idiot, and he's - he's an idiot, he's such an idiot, oh god, he's such, such a stupid idiot. 

"Okay," he says to himself, voice breathless. "Okay. This is stupid. You're being stupid." 

No one answers him. 

"Oh _god_ ," he chokes out, and he shoves his chair back, clatters down the front steps, barely remembering his wallet and car keys. 

Nick waits five minutes for the self-check at Boots, because he's not letting any nosy cashier see what's in his basket. Five pregnancy tests and a giant bottle of orange juice and a pack of gum. With a People magazine over the lot to hide it, which, _hilariously_ , has Harry's fucking face plastered all over the cover. 

Oh god. Nick has to bite down a hysterical kind of laugh, and he shoves his purchases into a plastic bag and gets the fuck out of there as soon as possible. 

Back at the flat, he unloads it all onto the kitchen table, stares at it. 

This is ridiculous. There's absolutely no way Nick is fucking pregnant. There's no way the universe is that cruel.

Nick grabs the orange juice, tosses the cap aside, takes a swig. With his other hand he flips through the People magazine until he gets to the One Direction article, and stares down at a photo of Harry in LA, looking tired, looking harried. His hair is tied back and his mouth is in a tight line. 

"Oh _god_ ," Nick says nauseously, and tips the bottle back to his mouth again. 

He drinks it all, and then three glasses of water, and then he pees on five different sticks and sets them on the edge of sink and goes into the kitchen. There's leftover pasta in the fridge from two nights ago, and he peels the top off, forks a massive bite into his mouth. 

His phone's on the tabletop, and when Nick presses it, he has a text from Harry. 

He swipes it open, chewing another bite. 

_Tour's off album's off. Officially. Leaving for BVIs tomorrow. Take care of yourself. Xx H_

Nick stares at it, blankly, and then pukes in the sink. 

\---

Of course they're all positive. Of fucking course every single test comes up positive. He scrutinizes each one like it's the Holy fucking Grail, and they're all bloody positive. Either modern medicine is a sham, or Nick's actually knocked the fuck up. 

He stares at himself in the mirror. Pale peaky face from being sick all day, eyes watery, hair a complete mess, _life_ a complete mess- 

Daisy answers on the first ring. 

"Yeah, hi, babe," she says, distractedly, and Nick puts his face into his hands, clutching the phone against his sweaty cheek. He's sitting on the closed toilet with the tests still on the sink next to him. 

"I need you to come over," Nick says. "Please." 

"I _just_ put some banana bread in the oven, if you give me a half hour I can bring it," she says, cheerily. "What's up?" 

"I just really need you," Nick says, and his voice cracks. "I really need someone." 

"Babe, you alright?" 

"No," Nick says, swiping his hand over his nose. "No. I'm not alright." 

There's a pause. 

"I'll be right there," Daisy says, and Nick hangs up. 

She lets herself in fifteen minutes later, calls, "Nick?" and Nick yells back, "I'm in the bedroom!" 

He can't move. His legs won't move. He just sits there, and waits until she finds him. 

"God, are you alright?" she says, worriedly. "You sounded awful on the…" 

She trails off when she sees the tests, and she takes a step closer. 

"Oh, love," she breathes, eyes huge. "Oh, god." 

"Five false positives," Nick says, as a joke, but his voice wobbles perilously halfway through. "Weird, huh?" 

\---

They make it to the kitchen, where Nick immediately goes for the wine and Daisy has to yank it out of his hands. 

"No," she says firmly, pushing him down into a chair. "I'll make tea." 

"If I drink, like, two bottles of wine, it'll just, like, flush it out of my system, right?" Nick says, shakily. "Like I'll just piss it out." 

Daisy turns to look at him with a withering expression. 

Nick gulps. "Yeah, you're right, that was stupid." 

"How long have you been being sick?" 

"Umm, like, two weeks," Nick says, trying to think. "Or like. Well, I was puking three weeks ago, but I was hungover. I think. Shit, maybe I wasn't. Shit."  

"You haven't seen a doctor?" 

"I didn't - think - it was, like… important?" Nick says, voice wobbly, and Daisy clucks her tongue softly and brings the tea over to Nick.

"Babe," she says. 

"I'm an idiot." Nick puts his hand over his face. "I'm an _idiot_." 

"Stop it," she says softly, pulling his hand down. "Listen, okay, so let's, let's be positive about this. Positives - it's probably still early enough, you know, if you want to take care of it." 

Nick doesn't look at her. He sips his tea. 

"Other positives," she says. "You're thirty-two. You're financially stable. You've got a house and a job. You'd be a bloody amazing dad." 

"Daize-" 

"Nick." 

He puts his hand over his face again. 

“I can think of the negatives on my own, thanks,” he says, and Daisy clucks at him again - a literal mother hen, she is - and slides into the chair next to him. 

“Listen,” she says. “Make a doctor’s appointment, and we’ll get this all sorted out. I’ll go with you.” 

“Nothing’s gonna be sorted out,” Nick says, semi-hysterically. 

“Doctor’s appointment,” she says, firmly. 

“Not right now-” 

“Yes right now, Nick. You’ll put it off, I know you.” 

Nick pulls his cellphone across the table towards himself with one finger, drawing in a shaky breath. 

“After the appointment can we get- oh my _god_ , I was about to say get drunk.” He moans. “What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?” 

“Just call,” Daisy murmurs. “And I’ll dip back home and get the banana bread. And Monty. We’ll have a proper puppy cuddle time, yeah?” 

Nick nods, pitifully, swiping his phone open, and Daisy gives him a fierce kiss on the cheek and stands up. 

“And Nick,” she says, ruffling his hair. “Don’t you dare bloody touch the wine.” 

\---

"Here for your first prenatal, are you?" the nurse says jovially as she swings into the room, grinning, and Nick looks up from where he's biting his fingernails furiously. It's been two days and he still feels a bit like he's just woken up from a nightmare, every time he remembers. 

"No," he says, flushing, tugging his shirt down over his stomach. "No, I- I'm not- I mean, I don't know if I am. I mean, I don't know for _sure_. That's why I'm- that's why I'm here." 

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," the nurse says, wincing. "Put my foot in it. Sorry about that, love. Oh, yeah, I see here you've just had a urine test done, let me just take a look-" 

She flips busily through the papers on her notepad, and hums something to herself, running her finger down the page. 

"Well," she says. "You're definitely pregnant, Mr. Grimshaw." 

Just like that. 

Nick's throat goes dry.

"Hmm, a good ten weeks along, I'd say," the nurse says, peering at the paper. "Yeah, ten weeks. Quite far! And this is your first time coming in to see a doctor?" 

Nick chokes out a cough, grabbing his arm with his other hand. 

"Are you sure?" he says, ignoring her question. "That's not, like, someone else's file?" 

"Nick?" the nurse says, peering up at him. "Grimshaw?"

Nick nods, frozen. 

"You're - is this - is this not a happy discovery?" the nurse says quietly. "You alright, love?" 

Nick shakes his head, huffs out a hard breath and covers his eyes with his hands. Shakes his head again.

"It says here you've been sick for the last few weeks, especially in the mornings - and you're not on any form of birth control except condoms, your appetite's been on and off..." she says, trailing off, looking helpless. "Love, you wrote here that you took five home pregnancy tests and they all came up positive. I - uh, is this a big surprise?" 

"Yeah," Nick says hoarsely, still feeling numb. It's all a joke, innit? Daisy put her up to this, they're gonna burst out of a closet laughing, everything'll be fine. They rigged the pregnancy tests. They made Nick's wee filled with… sperm. Or however it works. This isn't - real. "Yeah it is, a- a surprise." 

"Well, I'm gonna send you off with some information, alright?" the nurse says, looking down at her clipboard. "About all your options. Are you here with someone?" 

"My friend," Nick says faintly. "She's outside." 

"Well, uh. Maybe I could go grab her-" 

"No," Nick says, sharply. "No, I just want to go, can you give me the - the information, or whatever? I just want to go. I’ll make another appointment, or whatever, but I just. I just need to go." 

She looks at him soft-eyed, chewing her bottom lip. 

"Yeah, alright, love," she says. "Sit tight, let me get you some, uh, some pamphlets. We'll schedule another appointment." 

She ducks out of the room, and Nick digs out his phone, like a reflex, though once it's in his hand he doesn't know who the fuck to text. 

Daisy's sent him a kiss emoji and a bicep, and for some reason that makes Nick let out a shaky sob of a breath. Oh fucking hell. Fucking hell. This is happening. 

He starts to type a response, and he just- can't. He can't. He folds his sweaty hands over the phone. Ducks his head and waits, trying to breathe.

\---

"Okay, so, what?" Aimee says, leaning across the table and grabbing a crisp out of Nick's bag. "What'd you have to tell me?" 

Nick swallows hard, eats another crisp to calm his nerves, and hears a faint off-key humming coming from down the hall. Then a soft patter of footsteps. 

"What- is Ian here?" he hisses. "You said we were alone!" 

"We are, it's fine," Aimee says, waving him off. "Ian's doing a dot-to-dot and listening to Mariah Carey, he's dead to the fucking world." 

Nick absorbs this information with as much glee as one might expect. 

"It's his happy place," Aimee says, stirring her coffee, and then she looks up at Nick, eyes widening. "You are _not_ allowed to say that on radio." 

"Oh I won't!" Nick chirps. 

"Nick." 

Nick grins innocently, and she huffs out a defeated breath. 

"Well, other than ruining my marriage, what else did you come here for?" Aimee says, and the grin slips off Nick's face. Shit. 

He eats two more crisps, stalling for time. 

"Nick," Aimee says, tilting her head. "Babe. As incredibly fascinating as it is to watch you eat…"  

"Sorry, yeah, I-" he exhales hard. "I- shit. I need a fucking drink." 

"I have vodka," Aimee says helpfully. "And cran, maybe." 

"No, no, I- I can't," Nick says, and then he stares down at his hands and says, "Because I'm pregnant." 

There's a silence. Nick puts another crisp in his mouth and then doesn't dare crunch down on it. He just holds it there. 

"You're fucking with me," Aimee says flatly into the quiet. "Aren't you?" 

Nick shakes his head. It was a particularly large crisp, and the salt and vinegar flavor is melting off and going down his throat and making his eyes water. 

"Nick," Aimee says, panicky now. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"No," Nick garbles out, blinking back vinegar-induced tears. "Nope. Fully knocked up." 

He chews belatedly on the crisp, gone soggy now, and it suddenly makes him feel like he's going to be sick, so he spits it into a napkin and grabs for his tea, swishes it in his mouth. 

"Nick," Aimee breathes. "You're actually - are you - holy fucking shit. Holy shit." 

"Yeah, I know," Nick says, trying out a smile at her, his face feeling strange and stiff. "Pretty much my reaction." 

"Oh my god," Aimee says quietly. "A kid. You're gonna have a kid. I-okay. Okay." 

"Yeah," Nick manages to say. "It's mad, isn't it?" And then his throat clenches up and he hunches over, lets out a sob. The crying jags creep up on him at the worst times, lately. It's bloody awful.

"Oh god, babe," Aimee says, scooting her chair towards his, putting her arms around him. "Oh god. It's okay. It's gonna be okay." 

Nick can't keep his shoulders from shaking, and he's probably snotting all over Aimee's top, but he just - he just can't. 

"Shhh," Aimee murmurs, rubbing his back. "Oh god. This is - oh god. Shh, Nick, it'll be okay." 

Nick shakes his head where it's buried in her neck, and she shushes him some more, holding him tighter. 

"How long has it been?" she says into his ear, not letting go. 

"Like a week since I found out," he chokes out. "And - and ten weeks, they said. Nearly eleven, I guess, now." 

"Shit, Nick, that's almost three months," Aimee says, voice rising. "That's almost, like, your whole first trimester." 

Nick just snuffles, scrubbing at his eyes with his hand. 

"Babe," Aimee says, petting his hair. "God. This is- really happening. I- okay. You're gonna keep it?" 

Nick pulls away from her, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose hard. 

"I dunno," he says. "I mean, it's so- it's like, I want to be a dad, you know? I want - I want all that, I just, I'm-"

He stops, fumbling for words. His head's starting to throb. 

"I thought I'd do it _with_ someone, eventually," he says, looking up at her. Aimee's eyes are wide and glassy and she's looking at him a bit like he's an alien. 

"Nick," she says softly. "Do you know whose it is?" 

Shit. Nick's so bad at lying to Aimee. 

"Not sure," he says, looking down, taking another crisp out of the bag and then setting it down on the table. 

"You're not sure?" 

"I mean. I dunno. I - I just dunno." 

"Eleven weeks?" Aimee says. "I mean, you weren't even seeing anyone then."  

"Aimee, I said I don't-" 

"Harry was in London then," Aimee says, very slowly, voice hushed. "That weekend in May. You told me you - hooked up. Holy - you told me you didn't use a _condom_.” 

Nick goes hot all down his neck, wincing. That’s the trouble, with telling Aimee every intimate detail of his sex life since they were both practically teenagers. Never know when she’ll remember some detail and use it against him.

"Holy fucking shit, Nick. Harry Styles knocked you up?" 

Nick looks up at her helplessly. 

"He did _what_?" they both hear from the doorway, and Nick whirls around to see Ian clutching a dot-to-dot book and looking terrified.

Fucking _great_. 

"Were you fucking eavesdropping?" Aimee demands, and Ian flushes high on his cheeks. 

"No!" he yelps. "I came to get a cup of tea!" 

"I told you I had to talk to Nick about something-" 

"You didn't say it was important!" Ian glares at them. "You didn't say it was-" 

"Goddamnit, Ian!" 

"You should've bloody told me if you wanted me to stay in the-" 

"Fucking hell!" Nick yells. "Shut up!" 

They both fall silent, staring at him, and he puts his hands on the table. 

"Everyone knows, now," he says, trying to seem calm. "So let's all just fucking shut up and stop fighting." 

"I don't know anything," Ian says, staring at him. "You're - what. You're pregnant?" 

"Yep," Nick says shortly. 

"Holy shit," Ian breathes. "You're absolutely sure?" 

Aimee fixes him with a glare. 

"I'm only asking!" 

"Yes, I'm sure." 

"And it's Harry's?" Ian says, voice going wobbly. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I didn't even know you and Harry were still shagging. I - oh my _god_. Everyone's going to bloody shit themselves." 

"Everyone's not going to do anything, because neither of you can tell anyone," Nick says sharply. "You get that?" 

"Of course," Aimee says. 

"Yeah," Ian says dazedly. “Yeah. Wait, so. Wait- what? How do you- are you sure it’s his?” 

“You really need to stop asking him if he’s sure about things, babe,” Aimee says, baring her teeth. “It’s really fucking annoying.” 

Nick’s not really interested in whatever marital drama they’re doing this week.

“I’m sure,” he says. “There’s- there’s no one else it could’ve been.”

“Why did you let him fuck you without a _condom_ , Nick?” Aimee asks, voice cracking. "Like, why did that ever enter your mind as an option?"

"I dunno," Nick says pitifully. "Vodka?" 

Ian wrinkles his nose. 

"Like- he was in town, for his - his aunt's funeral or summat, I don't remember who, some family member, and he- he came over, we got pissed, he started _crying_ \- Aims, you know I can't deal with crying people." 

"So you thought, oh, I know what'll make him feel better, fucking bareback!" Aimee snaps. 

Nick sniffles, and then sobs, and Aimee's face softens. 

"Shit, sorry," she says, pulling him in again. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Ian, get us some water." 

Nick only manages a few hitching sobs before he's all dried out. He lifts his head again, just as Ian places a glass of water on the table in front of them, eyes darting between Aimee and Nick.

"Hey," Aimee says, quietly, cupping his cheeks with both hands, long fingernails pressing gently against his skin. It always makes Nick feel like a romantic heroine when she does that. "I'm sorry, that was shitty, you don't need that right now. If you're doing this, I'm here for you. Okay?" 

Nick blinks at her, sniffs in again. 

"Me too," Ian says, into the silence. "I mean… Obviously. Sorry. I'll shut up again." 

Aimee's watching him, eyes very steady. 

"Harry can't- I can't, with Harry," Nick says, voice small. "I don't know how to tell him." 

"We'll figure that out, promise."

"He's not- he's on an island, Aims," Nick says desperately. "He's on some private island. He left last Monday. He's _gone_." 

"An island?" Ian whispers, and Aimee shoots him a withering look. She turns back to Nick. 

"Okay, we'll figure that out too." 

Nick draws in a wobbly breath. "I haven't even told my mum and dad." 

Aimee arches an eyebrow. "Well, that's your next order of business. Tell Eileen and Pete, and the Harry stuff we'll figure out later." 

It feels nice, to have some semblance of a plan. Nick's been living in utter panic for the past week. He nods, and Aimee pets his head. 

"We'll figure it all out," she whispers. "It'll be okay. Promise." 

\---

He goes up to his parents' on Friday afternoon, blasts Greg's show and sings along to Lorde and tries to pretend his stomach isn't in knots. 

"Hiiii, family!" he cries, when he comes through the unlocked front door, and his mum calls back from somewhere upstairs, "Hiya, Nicholas!" 

"Nick, come watch telly with me!" a voice says from the sitting room, and Nick peeks his head in to see Liv tucked under a blanket, remote in hand.

"Hi babe," he says, blowing her a kiss, kicking off his boots. "Fun Friday night." 

"Shut up," she says, sticking her tongue out. "I'm poorly." 

"Are you?" 

"I vommed yesterday and I didn't go to work today." She pouts. "Everything is shit. Like literally everything is shit, I couldn't stop shitting either. Pete was horrified." 

"You are such a classy young lady," Nick says, shaking his head, snorting. "Truly." 

"Mum's taught me well," Olive says, just as Jane clatters down the stairs, wraps Nick in a hug. She smells of laundry detergent and perfume, warm and familiar. 

"Hi, Nick!" 

"Janie," Nick says, squeezing her tight. "How's things?" 

"Oh, fine, same," she says. "Liv stayed over here today to get some proper nursing while I was at work." 

"Nan made me chicken soup!" Liv yells. "It was amazing! I feel like I'm twelve!" 

"Honestly, she likes here better than home," Jane says, rolling her eyes. "Can you think of a single time mum made us chicken soup growing up? Anyway, how are you? How's London? I listened to the show last week, that bit with Mark Ruffalo was really good work, babe." 

"Aww, thanks. Where's dad?" 

"Out back doing garden things. Pruning, I think. You know, as you do at five PM on a Friday." 

"Of course." 

"And mum's setting up the spare room for you." 

They hear footsteps, and Nick's mum comes slowly down the steps, balancing a huge stack of folded bath towels. 

"Nick, love!" 

"Hi mum, good to see you," Nick says, trying to hug her around the towels, spreading his arms as wide as possible. She clucks, turns away. 

"Let me set these down. I've got dinner on." 

"Thank god, I'm starved," Nick says, rubbing his stomach, which is quivering nervously. 

"Fancy a drink, babe?" Jane says, leading him into the kitchen. "White wine? Gin and tonic?" 

"I'm alright," Nick says. "Just some water, maybe. Parched, me." 

Jane pulls out a glass, sticks it under the tap. "And here I thought you couldn't handle a weekend up here without a good amount of liquor. Is this maturity, Nicholas?" 

It's - well, it's _something_. "Ha," Nick says weakly, taking the glass of water. "Guess so." 

\---

Dinner's a roast chicken with potatoes and carrots and gravy, and a salad from Jane. Liv drinks two glasses of wine and Jane tells a boring story about work and Pete tells even more boring stories about the garden and they all pretty much ignore Nick, as usual, which is fine. Nick sits and eats and laughs at the right times and tries not to puke it all up, which would probably be a tell, wouldn't it. 

"Hey," he says, once everyone's stuffed and slowly eating leftover icebox cake from a dinner party his parents had during the week. "I've, uh. I've got to tell you all something." 

"Ooooh, is it dramatic," Liv says tipsily. "Ooooh." 

"Shush, Liv," Jane says, laughing. "You're taking chances with your stomach right now, it'll be your own fault if you get sick again." 

"I'm fine, mum," Liv says, waving her off and stealing her wine. 

"What is it, love?" Eileen says, standing up to clear the plates away. 

"Can you, um - can you sit down?" Nick asks, swallowing hard. "You might want to be sitting down." 

They all look at him, then. That is quite a dramatic sentence. Nick suddenly feels a little like he's in a film. 

"What is it?" Pete says, straightening up from where he'd nearly dozed off.

"Is everything okay, Nick?" Jane says in a hushed voice. 

"Oh my god," Liv says tearily. "Oh my god, do you have cancer?" 

"Bloody _hell_ , Liv," Jane says, slapping her arm. 

"I don't have cancer, what the fu - _hell_ ," Nick amends. 

"What is it then?" Eileen breathes. 

"Well," Nick says. "The thing is, um. I- I guess, like, I'm, um. I'm pregnant." 

Everyone's silent for a long moment, staring at him like they can't quite tell if it's a prank. 

"Pregnant?" Jane says eventually, sounding dazed. "But you're not- you're not seeing anyone." 

Nick nods, several times. "That's true." 

Liv's staring at him wide-eyed.  

"Pregnant?" his mum whispers. "By who?" 

Ahh, right into that, then. 

"Um, well," Nick says, clenching his hand in his lap. "I'm not entirely sure, actually." 

In the silence, Liv snorts. No one acknowledges it. 

"You're not sure, how could you not be sure?" 

Wow, Nick sort of hates this. This is worse than coming out. 

"Like from a test tube?" Jane asks. "Or, you know what I mean, a sperm bank, whatever-"

"No, _god_ ," Nick says, huffing out a breath. "I - no. I would've bloody told you if I were doing that, I - I didn't know this was, uh, going to happen." 

"So then - I don't - who, then?" his mum stammers. 

"He doesn't know, nan," Liv says loudly and slowly. "Because he slept with more than one person." 

"Liv!" 

"Shut up, Liv," Nick says, exhaustedly. 

"What? It's true!" 

Jane gives her a look and pointedly takes her wine glass away. 

"How far along are you?" Eileen says. Pete's just staring. Nick's really, really bloody sorry that he had to remind his dad that he gets fucked up the arse on a regular basis, but oh fucking well. 

"Um, nearly twelve weeks," Nick says, weakly. 

"Twelve weeks!" Jane gasps. "Babe, that's _far_! You didn't tell us?" 

"I only found out a couple weeks ago, alright?" 

"Only then? That far along and you didn't know?" his mum asks, eyes going round. "Oh, Nick." 

"I- I just didn't, I didn't think it was that," Nick says, voice wobbly. "But it was. It is. Is anyone happy for me, like, at all? This is bloody dismal." 

Jane clucks softly and Liv says, "I am, Nick! New cousin! Babies! Onesies! Cute Halloween costumes! Christmas!" 

"Of course we are, love," Jane says, patting Liv's arm to shut her up. "Just surprised, we're just- you're just surprised, yeah, mum?" 

Eileen nods. Her eyes are suspiciously watery, which is terrifying, cos Nick's mum cries about once a decade. 

"Are you happy about it, Nick?" Jane asks quietly. 

Isn't that the fucking question. Nick looks down. 

"Yeah," he says, voice cracking. "Sure I am." 

"So you haven't got- you know, a - a partner, or anything," Nick's dad says, sounding uncomfortable. "That you're doing all this with." 

Oh, Nick feels a bit like he's going to vomit. He's so sick of that feeling. He swallows hard. 

"Not - not as such, dad," he says. "Just me right now." 

"Well that's alright," Jane says, anxiously sliding her eyes over to Eileen, who still looks unsteady. "That's fine. You've got loads of mates with kids and - and all of your friends, and everything." 

Nick nods, and then says, hoarsely, "I need a wee." 

He locks the door of the bathroom, looks at himself in the mirror, and has about a split second to turn the sink on full-blast before he's stumbling over to the toilet to be sick. 

His eyes are streaming by the time he’s done, his nose burning. He spits weakly a few times, grabs some loo roll to wipe his nose, flushes the toilet and turns the water off. 

He stands back up, fumbles for toothpaste in the medicine cabinet and swishes it around in his mouth with a bit of water. The doctor said next week, maybe, the nausea'll slow down a bit. Nick's fucking praying. 

He walks back out to the kitchen, and they all look down at their plates, guiltily. They're sitting in complete silence, which is how Nick knows they could hear him vomming, because his family _never_ sits in complete silence. It's not in their nature. 

"So, like I was saying," Jane says, desperately, not looking as Nick slides back into his chair. "Liv's got a holiday coming up, and we're thinking about-" 

"Don't eat, love," Eileen says suddenly, grabbing Nick's hand with the forkful of chicken he was about to put in his mouth. "Not so soon after being sick, it'll hurt your stomach." 

Nick goes tense, and puts the fork down. 

"So, a holiday," Jane says brightly. "Liv really wants to go to New York but she's only got a week and a half off from work and it's expensive-"

"But I've been _saving_ , mum, and a week and a half is like forever, I can totally do it." 

"What d'you want to go to New York for?" Pete asks. "Bloody twelve hour flight and then you're just in a big city like London. Nothing fun about that." 

Liv sighs long-sufferingly. "New York is _not_ like London, granddad." 

"I was thinking Majorca, but Liv's got her heart set on-" 

"I do not have my heart- I just! I just think it'd be fun, I've never _been,_ which is madness, considering my uncle's _best mate_ is from there-" 

"Oh, we'd have to chat to Aimee before we went- _if_ we go," Jane amends hastily, when Olivia's eyes go starry. "Definitely."

"Yeah," Nick says, forcing a smile, nodding. "She'd love that." 

"Siiiick," Olivia says, grinning. "Nick, will you talk to her?" 

"Nick, don't quite yet," Jane says. 

"Oh my god, mum, it's just _talking_ to her. It's not like I'm booking a flight." 

"But Aimee'll get excited, and I don't need two of you on my case," Jane says. "Three including Nick. We can discuss it tomorrow." 

"Speaking of tomorrow," Nick says weakly. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. Long day at work." 

"You told your brother yet?" Eileen peers at him. "About- about all this?" 

Nick huffs a laugh, rubs his hand over his face. "No, mum, I haven't. I didn't somehow tell Andy in the time after I told you lot. Didn't ring him while puking my guts out in the toilets." 

"Don't get sharp with your mother, Nicholas," Pete says gruffly. 

"I just want to go to bloody bed!" Nick snaps. "I'm tired!" 

"That's no excuse for you to act like a bleeding child!" 

"Go to bed, love," Eileen says, shooting Pete a look. "It's alright." 

Nick shoves his chair back. 

\---

He's just crawling into bed when he hears a soft knock on the door, and he turns to see Jane leaning against the doorjamb. 

"Hey," she says. 

"Hey." Nick sits up against the wall, tugs the sheet up over his legs. 

Jane stares at him for a long moment. 

"What, Janie," Nick says sharply. 

"You know whose it is, don't you?" she asks softly. 

Nick forces his face to stay blank. He takes off his glasses, sets them on the nightstand, next to an old Harry Potter book Liv must have been reading last night. 

"I have an idea," he says. 

Jane nods, slowly. 

"And he's, what, no good?" she says, voice low. 

"He just can't," Nick says, firmly, staring at the worn material of the pillow he's holding over his stomach. "He can't do this." 

"Babe," Jane breathes. 

"It's fine, y'know? It's alright. It'll be alright." 

"Who is it, Nick? Someone I know?" 

"Please, Janie, can we not talk about it?" 

Jane nods again, looking chagrined. 

There's a silence. 

"Were you scared?" Nick asks, and his voice goes wobbly. Jane comes into the room, sits down next to him and puts her arm around his shoulder. "With Liv." 

"Bloody terrified," Jane murmurs. 

Nick nods, as she rubs his back gently, back and forth. 

"How'd you, like, get over it?" 

"Oh, I'm still scared," Jane says. "You just realize that you can handle it. Even though it'll be awful sometimes, and hard, and you'll feel like you've got no clue what you're doing. You can do it. Billions of people have." 

"Even _you_ have, and you're mental," Nick says, and she laughs, pinches his side. 

"It'll be okay, Nick. It will." 

"I'm gonna get fat," Nick says sadly, and she laughs again. 

"Yeah, you will." 

"And I've been sick like every day. I'm so fucking tired of vomming." 

She squeezes him hard. "I know, it's shit. It's really shit for a while." 

Nick lets out a long exhale, and she presses her mouth against his temple.

"Promise it's worth it, though," she says quietly. "I don't know who I'd be without Liv." 

Nick nods, his head heavy. 

"This feels so mad," she says, huffing a laugh. "My baby brother got knocked up." 

Nick laughs too, sniffs in hard. 

"I thought I was being sick from undercooked eggs," he says, and she snorts. "And then I remembered I'd had cereal like three days straight and still puked-" 

"Oh my _god_ ," she laughs. "Nick." 

"God, Jane, I was so, like. I freaked _out._ " 

"I bet. Poor love." 

“I bought five tests,” Nick says, choking a laugh.

“You didn’t.”

“Did. I waited like ten minutes for a self-check, I was so embarrassed.” 

Jane laughs.

“You going to tell people?” she asks, gently. 

Nick sighs, breath shuddering. “I- I dunno, yet. Maybe not til, like, it gets obvious. I mean my friends, yeah, sure."

“But like, the nation,” Jane says, squeezing his arm. “The world. You’ll maybe hold off on all that for a bit?” 

“Don’t like lying,” Nick says. “But I- shit. I dunno. What if - what if people are awful?” 

Jane pulls him in closer. 

“I’ll come down to London and do some damage,” she says, sounding fully ready to follow through on that promise.

“You’re so mad,” Nick laughs. 

Jane snorts against his cheek. "Promise you it'll be alright." 

Nick's past the age where promises from his big sister mean much. He knows no matter what she says, it's going to be shit. The papers'll be mean, and the rumors will fly, and Harry- Harry's Harry. A mess. 

But he just - lets himself believe it, for a little bit. Just for a bit.  

\---

"Hello again, Mr. Grimshaw," the nurse says, shutting the door behind her and smiling at him. It’s a different one from last time, younger, with dark friendly eyes. He looks up from the chair he's sat uncomfortably in, forces a smile. 

"Hiya." 

"How are you?" 

"Good, and you?" he says reflexively. 

"I'm good, thanks," she says, sitting down at the desk across from him. "So. Twelve weeks, eh? That's your first trimester sorted!" 

Nick nods. 

"And how are we feeling?" 

Nick's about to say _good_ again, but she looks at him and smiles and he - oh god, he feels like he's going to cry. Why does he always fucking feel like he's going to cry? 

"I- um," he says, rubbing a palm over his face. "I dunno, I'm sick all the fu- all the time, and I'm always all, all weepy and stroppy and everyone's starting to get sick of me." 

The nurse laughs softly. "All sounds pretty par for the course, love. How often are you sick?" 

"Like nearly every morning?" 

"That'll start to go away this month. Usually doesn't last through the second tri. Nauseous throughout the day?" 

"Uhh, maybe until noon or so. I, um, I get up quite early for work, so it's always worse then-" 

"6:30'll be good practice for the baby, though," the nurse says absently, writing something on her pad, and then she looks up with a wince. "Sorry. I do - I mean. I listen, to. To Radio One." 

Nick nods, huffs a laugh. "Cheers, I guess." 

"I was going to pretend I didn't, but - god. Anyway. Sorry. So you're sick til about noon. Any changes in appetite?" 

"I mean, I'm starving all the bloody time, but I always am, that's nothing new," Nick says long-sufferingly, and she laughs. 

"You're not trying to diet, or anything? At this stage especially it's crucial that the fetus get enough nutrients-" 

"Not dieting. I'm being healthy." Nick pointedly doesn't mention the massive plate of cheese chips he had on Friday (and Saturday). Cheese has nutrients. Like- calcium, or whatever. For your bones. 

"Good." She marks something on the notepad. "Now, twelve weeks is usually when we first listen to the fetal heartbeat. You're alright with doing that, today?" 

Nick nods, mind racing. Bloody _heartbeat_? He can't imagine it's got much of a heartbeat at this point- 

"Well, I'll get Dr. Sani in here and get you sorted," she says, and then she looks at him, tilting her head. "Before I do, though. Have you made any decisions on termination, because some parents- excuse me, some _people_ don't like to hear the heartbeat if they plan to-" 

"I'm not," Nick says, giving her a tight smile, stomach in knots. "I'm not, uh, terminating. Keeping it." 

He drops his gaze, sticks his fingernail in his mouth. That's it, then. 

"I'll get the doctor, then," she says, patting his knee. "Sit tight." 

\---

One week into his second tri, and Nick has a sonogram hidden away in his desk drawer and a letter from Harry that came two days ago that he still hasn't got the guts to open. He doesn't even technically know it's from Harry, except the handwriting is painfully familiar and who else would send Nick a fucking _letter_? There's no return address, which is also very Harry. Transient little popstar who always needs to have the last word.

It takes about half a pint of ice cream and three hours for Nick to work up the courage. It's a Thursday night, quiet and still and hot outside, and Nick's sitting on his sofa in freezing-cold air conditioning with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the letter clutched in one hand. 

It's written with black pen on unlined journal paper, small off-white pieces like the type in Harry's notebook he carries with him everywhere in case he gets inspired, or whatever. 

 _Nick_ , it starts, and Nick reaches for the ice cream, takes a huge bite to fortify himself. It’s a bit cliche, sitting on the sofa alone and eating ice cream and reading a letter from a former lover. A bit dramatic. Oh well. 

_I'm on the plane to the British Virgin Islands. I don't know exactly how to write this but I need to write something._

_I think that the way we've been in the past few years has been really bad for both of us. Not that it wasn't fun, or good, and it's not that I don't love you and love spending time with you. But the thing where we have sex for a while and then I leave and then we do it again isn't doing either of us any good. Before I left in March I talked to Aimee and she told me how you get when I'm on tour or in LA. That you've gotten out of relationships because of me and haven't committed to anyone and I don't want to be the reason for that._

Nick's heart is pounding. Fucking Aimee. How fucking dare she. 

_It's been four years and we haven't moved forward and I know that's mostly because of me and what I do. I think it's time that we stop doing this. I want you to be able to be with someone who's better for you because I'm really confused right now about what I want and I'm not ready to commit to someone. This was so good when we were both younger but I'm still figuring life out and I know you want more than that. I really, really love you Nick. I've loved you for five years. And I wish that were enough for us to both be happy but I'm hurting you and I hate that I'm hurting you. There's nothing I want less in the world than to hurt you._

Nick stops reading because his eyes are wet and the words are going blurry. 

Fuck. Fuck. He hunches in on himself, crosses his arm over his chest, tries to breathe. It's fine. This is fine. This is totally - oh, god, this is so not fucking fine. 

_I'm going to the island because I need to figure myself out. I know it's cliche but it's what I need. The whole industry is basically just trying to separate me from who I am and turn me into someone else. And I think I held out for a pretty long time but I've felt weird and sad and disconnected for the last year or so. We all have. I think we're burned out (cliche again I know). The point is I need to be alone and I need to stop hurting people and that starts with you because you're one of the most important people in my life. I want you to be happy with someone who can actually commit to you. I don't think that person is me and I don't want to make you wait. I don’t know how long it will be before I’m ready to be with someone._

Nick sobs, heavily, and immediately tries to press it down, breathing out hard, scrubbing at his eyes. 

_I don't know what will happen in the future but right now this doesn't work for either of us. I love you Nick and I hope you understand this. I left my phone and my laptop in LA and I think it was the right decision. I think it's good for us not to talk to each other for a while. It doesn't mean I don't care about you I promise. Take care of yourself. I want you to be happy._

_Love,_

_HS_

He's signed it underneath, like it's a reflex to give his autograph, and Nick stares at it, the well-practiced swoop of Harry's messy handwriting. 

His head hurts. He sets the letter down on the coffee table, staring straight ahead. 

Right then he knows. He can't tell Harry about this. He can't drag him back to London, ruin his life, rope him into a lifelong commitment. He can't. Harry'll die that way, he'll absolutely hate it. 

Or worse, he'll come back, and then he'll leave again. He'll leave Nick alone with this, and Nick will have to pretend he's not bothered, because he knows the rules. He's not allowed to ask for more. No good comes of it.  

Nick exhales shakily. 

There was this time, years ago, when Harry was about to leave for tour. Their goodbyes were always a strange affair, because Nick acted like he didn't care until they were fucking, and then it all came out in this awful helpless rush. He couldn't keep himself from holding on tight, kissing Harry hard, leaving lovebites up his torso until Harry pushed his mouth away, laughing at him tenderly, and said _c'mon, not so high up, someone'll see_. 

Nick reined it in when they weren't bloody horizontal. Kept it together and shoved it down somewhere inside him and sometimes he even convinced himself that it was fine, that it didn't hurt. They were just mates. Harry was just a big dick and a pretty face. It was just a shag.

This time, though. Harry had just turned twenty-one, done his birthday in LA and then flown to London for a few days before going off to Australia for tour. Nick had this goal. This silly sort of goal, that he wasn't going to let Harry into his bed. Like a New Year's resolution, to stop being so incredibly easy.

Harry came back home, and he came over. He sat on the sofa with his thighs spread in skinny jeans and a mouth stained with red wine, and Nick went to his knees in front of him as soon as Harry looked at him for longer than two seconds. 

Just like that. 

They shagged each other senseless for two days and then Harry left, gave Nick a kiss and a friendly squeeze around the waist and when he was gone, Nick remembered why he wasn't going to let Harry in. 

Nick scrubs at his eyes, slips the letter back into the envelope. 

So that's how it's got to be. Nick'll do this on his own, and it'll be fine. 

\---

"You've been avoiding me," Aimee says, as she lets herself into Nick's flat the next afternoon. Nick looks up from his laptop. He's Googling unusual birth stories and taking a sip of ginger tea every time one of the photos makes him gag. Why's he looking at the stories when they make him gag? Well, that's his own bloody business, isn't it. He can gag if he wants to. 

"No I'm not," he says defensively. Everything feels defensive today. He nearly threw his breakfast at Fiona when she made an innocent comment about his quiff. "I'm just - inside my flat. As is my right as a human being. I own this flat and I'm allowed to be inside it." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Nick scrolls by something labeled _Breech birth of triplets- afterbirth_! and takes a deep gulp of tea, breathes out slowly. "I dunno. Oh, _fuck_ , Aimee, look at this. Look at that baby's head. It's all squashed. Ohh my god, that's so much blood." 

Aimee sits on the sofa next to him and peers at the screen. 

"What the hell are you looking at?" she yelps, slamming the computer shut. "Jesus, Nick!" 

Nick snorts. "S'just a natural part of the human body, Aims-" 

"That's disgusting. Oh god, _please_  let me never get pregnant." 

"Hey," Nick pouts, and she laughs, kicking off her heels and sinking back into the sofa. She grabs Nick's tea, sniffs it and pulls a face. 

"Ew, what's that?" 

"Doctor said it'd make me stop puking." 

"I thought you stopped puking last week." 

"Well sometimes I still bloody  _puke_ ," Nick says testily. "So get off my fucking back." 

Aimee raises an eyebrow. "What's up your ass?" 

Nick glares at her.

"Speaking of that," she says smoothly. "We need to talk about what's _been_  up your ass. More specifically, who. Even more specifically, Harry Styles." 

"Never heard of 'im," Nick says, sulky, grabbing his phone and opening up Instagram. Aimee snatches it out of his hand. Nick draws in a horrified breath. 

"We're talking about this now," Aimee says firmly. "Because you've been avoiding me." 

"Aimee-" he makes a grab for the phone. 

Aimee throws it at the armchair, and they both wince as it nearly bounces off. 

"If you broke the screen-" 

"I didn't!" Aimee says, slightly contrite. She's laughing, though. "Desperate times, Nick." 

"I'll show you desperate fucking times." 

"You are so pissy today," Aimee says lightly, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Where's my li'l sunshine. Where's my li'l sunshine baby." 

"He is not on radio, so _he_  does not have to pretend to be a bloody sunshine baby when he's bloody tired." 

"He is talking about himself in third person," Aimee says, snorting. She puts her hand in Nick's hair, fingernails scritching gently over his scalp. "And Aimee does not like it. Have you had dinner?" 

Nick shakes his head, helplessly soothed by the touch. 

"Let's do a pizza," Aimee says. "Stahhhhving, me. Here, go get your phone so we can call." 

"You bloody threw it, you can get it." 

Aimee laughs in his ear, and staggers up from the sofa, grabs Nick's phone. 

She drops it in his lap and wanders off to the kitchen. 

"Do you have wine?" 

"Yeah," Nick says sadly. Fun bit of unplanned pregnancy, Nick's flat is filled with booze and he can't have a drop of it. "There's white in the fridge. Maybe a Cab Sav in the back of the liquor cabinet." 

"Thanks!" she yells back, and then- "I want margherita! Oh wait, no, white, that one with the goat cheese and basil."

Nick sighs, and puts the phone to his ear. 

\---

"So," Aimee says, an hour later, pouring herself a third glass of wine. "We still need to talk."

Nick's stretched out over the sofa, feet hanging off the end, rubbing his stuffed stomach. He lifts his head and belches, wincing. Bloody dairy. Tastes so right, feels so wrong. "What." 

"Harry." 

"Ugh. I don't want to talk about him. Anything else." 

"Nope, he's the only subject on the agenda. It's been three weeks, Nicholas. And he still doesn't know." 

Nick stares up at the ceiling. 

"I'm thinking about it," he lies. 

"I know he's, like, inaccessible or whatever, but-" 

"Hey," Nick interrupts. "Aims. Go into my room, in my desk. First drawer on the right. There's this white envelope with my name and address on it."

Aimee blinks at him through her glasses, wine halfway to her mouth. Nick turns his head to look at her. 

"It's about Harry," he says, quiet. "Just- go. Look." 

Aimee sets her wine down and stands up, brushing crumbs off her top. 

She comes back into the room two minutes later, staring down at the envelope. Pig's trailing hopefully at her heels, waiting for a bite of pizza. 

"What the hell is this?" she asks, sinking back into the armchair, pulling out the letter.

Nick just waits. 

"Oh, shit," she breathes, and she lapses into silence to read. 

Nick shuts his eyes, and folds his hands over his stomach. 

\---

It's a long five minutes before Aimee drops the letter on Nick's chest. Nick opens his eyes, blinking blearily up at her. 

Aimee's face is soft. 

"Aims?" Nick says, not looking at her. "I - I'm not going to tell him. I've decided." 

"Nick..." 

"I'm not going to tell him. It'd be stupid to tell him, when he doesn't even, like- with the way things are now." 

Aimee sits down next to Nick's hip, pushing him over to the back of the sofa. 

"Babe," she says, quietly. "Are you serious about this?" 

Nick blinks hard. His eyes are going hot, and he stares determinedly up at the ceiling. Aimee puts a hand on his chest.

"Yeah, think so," he says, wobbly. 

"It's gonna be hard. Not telling him. Him not finding out. If he comes back-" 

"He's not coming back," Nick says, voice thick. "You read the bloody letter. He's not coming back." 

"He will at some point, Nick. He's just having a quarter-life crisis. You can't read that letter like it's actually what he thinks, he's just talking shit. He's twenty-three, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about." 

"Harry doesn't say things he doesn't mean," Nick says, sniffing in hard. Aimee pets his hair. "You know that. And he said that we're not - that he's not in love with me, and that I've been stupid, and that we're not right for each other. He said all that. It's right there. It's a fucking break-up letter." 

"He didn't say that." 

"I'm not telling him, Aims." Nick shuts his eyes, tries to laugh. "He'd be a shit dad anyway. He's about twelve years old. He's a _popstar_." 

"Nick-" 

Nick keeps his eyes closed. 

"You and Ian and Daize are the only ones who know," he says, clenching his jaw. He can't cry, now. He hasn't cried in about thirty-six hours, it's a new record. "Everyone else'll just think I've fucked up and gotten knocked-up by someone random. Do you - do you promise, you won't tell anyone?" 

Aimee's quiet. Nick opens his eyes, struggles upward until he's sitting. 

"Aims. Do you promise." 

"Fuck," Aimee mutters. "This isn't a good idea." 

"Promise, Aimee. Promise me. It's my bloody decision." 

Aimee inhales hard, scrubbing her hand over her face. 

"Please," Nick breathes. "I know it's mental. This is all fucking mental. I just can't do it with him, Aims." 

He puts his face against her shoulder. Oh god, this is awful. Nick hates _emotions_. And thinking about Harry Styles. The two tend to go hand-in-hand. 

"Please," he mumbles. 

Aimee throws her arms around him, squeezes him so hard it hurts. 

"You're such a fucking idiot," she says fiercely into his ear. "I promise. I won't tell anyone." 

"Ian either-" 

"Ian either. Don't worry about him. He'd literally rather die than have you be angry at him." 

Nick gulps out a laugh. 

"Thanks," he says, pulling away, wiping at his eyes. Aimee's doing the same, and they both politely ignore each other's tears. 

"More pizza?" Aimee asks, brusquely, and Nick nods, reaching out to shove a crust in his mouth. 

\---

Nick wakes up well before his alarm on his 33rd birthday. He lies in bed for a little while, until his phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Chats: _Legends_

 **Matt Fincham:** Morning bab [sunglasses emoji] 

 **Matt Fincham** : Oh and HAPPY BIRTHDAY 

 **Fiona Hanlon** : Happy birthday nick!!!!

 **Fiona Hanlon** : Now get yer arse up & don't be late 

Nick huffs out a laugh. 

 **Nick Grimshaw** : Morning minions

 **Nick Grimshaw** : Bring me cake or I'm not doing the show 

Matt sends back ten cake emojis, which is good enough for Nick. He rolls out of bed, stumbles into the shower. 

Thirty-three. Holy shit, he's getting old. Last year he still felt ancient, but at least he could drink himself to blackout to forget.

He stares accusingly down at his still-somewhat-flat stomach, and then tips his head back to rinse out his shampoo. 

The show's fine. Ian brings in a cake, and they sing Happy Birthday on air, with the girl they've been playing Showquizness with for the last week. Nick claps and laughs and conducts, and then tucks into the cake. 

"Big plans for tonight, then, Nick?" Matt asks, as an Adele song fades out. "Should I be worried about tomorrow's show?" 

"Might need a rescue crew to fetch you out your bed, huh," Fiona laughs.

"Feed and clothe me, all that," Nick says gamely. "Finchy, you'll do it, won't you? He loves it. He's my little nursey. Ibiza 2013, wasn't it, Fincham, you had to clothe my naked body? I've never forgotten it…"

Matt rolls his eyes. "It's only Monday, Nick, try and save it up til the weekend, for the sake of your long-suffering producer." 

"Oh, you love it, Matt. Plus, a hangover is culturally relevant." 

"Oh, you- maybe after the Brits, Nick. That's your one exception. Not your bloody birthday. It's not _actually_ a national holiday, no matter how much you wish it could be." 

"Anyway, it don't matter, I'm planning on a quiet evening in with a few friends. Full of laughter and witty banter. Red wine and sophisticated conversation." 

Fiona cackles. "Sure you are!" 

"Scuse me, Fi, I'm thirty-three now, I'm not a child." 

Matt sighs. "Nick, you texted us this morning saying you weren't coming in to do the show unless we brought cake." 

Nick snorts. "Alright, I may have said that. Well after today I'll be proper mature, like. Except, like, youthfully mature. This is Radio One, after all." 

He hits Play on the next song and sits back in his seat, making grabby-hands as Ian cuts himself a piece of cake. Ian sighs, hands it to Nick. 

"Thank you, baby," Nick says, around a mouthful of icing. 

Ian just sticks out his tongue. 

Nick takes another bite of his cake. There's one upside of being knocked-up, he can eat as much fucking cake as he wants. Except no one knows about it, so he'll seem like a pig. 

He considers it for a minute, and then puts another piece in his mouth. Oh well. 

\---

He does dinner later that night, at a place in Belgravia with a private back room that Emily picked out. His friends get drunk, because none of them are really that mature, and Nick sips sparkling water with lime in a glass and talks and talks to cover up the fact that he's not joining them. He ends up at his, with Aimee and Ian and Daisy, who start passing around a bottle of Nick's wine while Nick talks to his mum on the phone. 

"Yeah- yeah, mum. No, I'm not drunk, I wouldn't bloody drink. C'mon now. Thank you, mum. It was alright, yeah, it was good. I've got to go, my friends are over, I'm being rude. Cheers, speak to you later. Thanks."

He hangs up, wanders into the sitting room, and Daisy pats the sofa next to him and says, "Sit down, babe, we're watching Dirty Dancing." 

Nick sinks onto the couch, lets Daisy wriggle under his arm and sling a hand across his stomach. 

"You alright?" she asks quietly. 

"Next year I'll have a baby," Nick says back. It wasn't what he meant to say, exactly, but it's been on his mind since Miquita showed up at dinner with her eight-month-old and everyone cooed over him for ages. Nick held him on his lap, bounced him til he gurgled with happiness, and felt a sudden wave of dizziness. 

Daisy looks at him, tilting her head, eyes soft. 

"Yeah you will, babe," she says. 

Nick clutches her arm, that same dizziness from before making his head spin. "God, Daize."

Daisy pets his hand. "You want to talk about it, or you want to not think about it?" 

"I want to get twatted," Nick says, voice raw. "Is what I really want." 

"Not on the list of options, Nicholas," Aimee says from the other sofa. Ian keeps quiet. 

"Next year," Daisy says cheerily. "You'll have a baby, and you'll get absolutely smashed. It'll be lovely."

"How responsible!" Nick says, gulping out a hysterical laugh. "Fucking hell. I'm gonna kill it. Do you think I'm gonna kill it?" 

"Can you stop?" Aimee says, voice slurring a little. Her cheeks are red from wine. "You're a fucking responsible mature adult, Nicholas- _yes_ , you are, don't give me that look. You've got a dog and a flat and a job and a car-" 

"What about Puppy, though," Nick says, low, meanly, and Daisy clucks, surprised. Ian looks away uncomfortably.

Aimee sits straight up, glaring at him. "Where the hell did that come from? That wasn't your fault. And it was years ago." 

"I can't bloody take care of things." 

"Yes you can," Daisy says softly. 

"You can too," Aimee snaps. "First of all, a dog's not a fucking kid, no offense to Pig-" 

Pig lifts her head, blinking. 

"- and you _can_. God, babe, I know you're freaked out, but you have to give yourself a little more credit." 

Nick nods, because he feels like he's going to cry. He swallows hard. 

"Ugh," he manages to say, voice wobbly. "Worst bloody birthday ever. Sorry." 

"Nick," Daisy murmurs, rubbing his arm. 

Aimee arches an eyebrow. "Worse than when you threw up on yourself while in a car with Bob Geldof and he nearly left you on the side of the road?" 

"Worse than when you got shut out of Justin Bieber's party in Ibiza and you had to take a cab back to the hotel by yourself?" Ian offers, snorting. 

"What about two years ago, Nick, you accidentally pissed on your brand new Burberry leather jacket cos you thought you were in the toilet," Daisy says, very obviously trying not to giggle. 

"At least I was bloody drunk all those times," Nick says, but he's laughing. He puts his head against Daisy's shoulder and sighs. "Oh my god, that leather jacket. Rest in peace."

\---

On the Friday after his birthday he heads out to a club in SoHo where Annie's DJing. It's not entirely awful, bouncing around with his best mates whilst drinking sparkling water with lime (he's getting pretty bloody sick of it) and listening to Annie play a weird mishmash of Rihanna, U2, and Wu-Tang Clan. 

He's bellying up to the bar to get refills for Daisy and Henry when he feels a hand on his waist. 

"Hey," a voice says. "Grimmy! Good to see you, mate!" 

Nick blinks at him. Oh, shit, this is someone he should remember, cos he's definitely slept with them, once upon a time. James. Josh? 

"John," the bloke says, laughing a little. "Oh my god, you utter bastard, we spent a lovely night together." 

Nick laughs sheepishly, setting his empty glasses on the bartop. "Obviously I knew that, John, my oldest friend, how are you-" 

"Well, we spent a lovely twenty minutes in a toilet together." John grins. "Wouldn't remember your name either if I didn't hear you on my radio every day." 

Nick snorts. "Sorry. You alright?" 

"Good, yeah." John leans against the bar next to him. He's got dark hair, nice warm eyes. A tattoo spiraling out of the deep-V of his t-shirt onto his chest. Nick glances at his mouth, has to fight against an unexpected kick of lust. 

John's saying something. Nick tries to tune back in. 

"- buy you a drink?" he finishes, arching an eyebrow. 

"Uhh, I'm- not, not tonight," Nick stammers, caught off-guard. "I'm just grabbing some drinks for my-" 

"Let me get them," John says, patting him on the back. His hand is warm. Nick feels off-kilter, and he never feels off-kilter when he's on the pull. 

Is he on the pull? Is that even allowed? Oh god, does he have to tell John he's pregnant? Is it like telling someone you've got an STD?

Nick shakes himself, laughs easily. "Mate, you really don't have to."

"No, I insist. What'll you have?" 

Nick huffs a laugh. 

"Erm, Henry's got a vodka-soda and Daisy's is a-" he sniffs it, trying not to gulp at the dregs. "Gin and tonic, smells like." 

"And what about for you?" 

Nick laughs uneasily. "Uhh, sticking with water tonight. Still fighting off a nasty hangover." 

John waves him off. "Hair of the dog, mate!" 

Nick swallows. 

"A vodka, then," he says. "Soda. Whatever."

He'll just give it to Henry. It's not like John will notice, if he's - otherwise occupied, perhaps in the toilets- 

John orders the drinks, and Nick pulls out his phone. Daisy's texted him. 

_Henry says hurry up_

_I say take your time babes. Whos that youre chatting to ?? ;)_

Nick shoves the phone back into his pocket without answering. 

"There you go, mate," John says, sliding his card across the counter. "It's good to see you." 

Nick runs a hand through his quiff. He's sweating, in the thick air of the bar, air-conditioning no match for the summer heat and the press of bodies. 

"Cheers, that's really nice," he says, and then- "What d'you say we drop the drinks off and, uh, find somewhere to talk?" 

John grins at him like the cat that got the cream. 

"I'd like that," he says. Nick nods, pasting on a smile, and takes a drink in each hand. 

\---

They end up in a toilet stall - a nice one at least, with walls that go all the way down and a lock that works. John's mouth tastes of whiskey and he's got nice hands, stroking down Nick's sides, cupping the back of his head. 

It's all nice. It's all - perfectly nice, even though they're in a club toilet and John's practically a stranger. It's still nice. Six months ago Nick would've been pleased as punch with this turn of events.

All he feels now, though, is a dull sense of panic. 

He kisses harder to cover it, and John hums, reaching around to grope Nick's arse. Nick shudders and pretends he didn't. 

"I've got a condom," John murmurs, fingers playing with the hem of Nick's jeans, sliding down onto bare skin.

"Rather suck you off," Nick breathes back, pulling John's hand off his arse, and he sinks to his knees. 

Everything's a bit less urgent down there. He exhales shakily, licks his lips, as John unzips his jeans, pulls his cock out. 

Nick stares at it. Up close, dicks are so strange. Just- so, like, red, and wrinkly in weird places, and - 

John coughs, impatiently, and slides a hand into Nick's hair, fucking up his quiff. 

Nick nods, feeling stupid. 

"Sorry," he says, kissing the tip as penance. It's strange, how he doesn't want to do this. He's always liked sucking cock. God, with Harry he used to spend ages down there, kissing every inch of Harry's soft skin, thumbing over the sensitive slit of his dick, hearing him laugh out a moan. 

Nick hunches over, his stomach clenching with self-pity the way it does every time he thinks of Harry. John's fingers tighten in his hair, a gentle reminder, and Nick takes the hint, slides his mouth down over the head. 

By the end he's so _bored_. John's thrusting forward, gasping quietly, barely audible over the thumping music. Nick has hands in his hair and a dick in his mouth and he's bored. 

"Fuck, god, yeah," John whispers. "M'gonna come. Gonna come." 

Nick pulls off, cups his palm over the head of John's dick as he spurts, doesn't let a drop of it on his face or in his mouth. John groans, pulling at Nick's hair. 

"Jesus," he says, breathlessly. "That's good." 

Well, it's nice to know Nick can still get a compliment when he feels like he'd rather be home in bed watching The Simpsons. 

He fumbles for some loo roll, wiping at his hand. His knees are starting to hurt. 

"Sit on the toilet, I'll blow you," John murmurs, and Nick huffs out a laugh, dropping the wad of loo roll into the toilet. What the fuck is he doing? He's too old for this, to sit on a bloody toilet to get his dick sucked by someone he barely knows. 

"I'm alright," he says, pulling himself to his feet. "I- I have to go, actually." 

"What?" 

"My friend's texting me. Gotten into trouble. I- like, sorry, I'll- see you around, maybe?" 

John's staring at him. 

"Did I do something?" he asks, as Nick fumbles for the door handle. 

"No, mate, no, you were fine," Nick stammers. "I just- I just have to go. Sorry." 

The door opens finally, and Nick stumbles out. There's a bloke washing his hands, and he gives Nick a long look in the mirror. 

Yeah, Nick knows exactly how he looks. 

He grabs another paper towel and keeps wiping at his hands, as he slips out of the toilet. 

His friends are fine, of course. He slips out the back door, because his heart is pounding and he wants a breath of fresh air. 

There's a couple people smoking in the alleyway. 

"Can I bum one?" Nick asks weakly. A girl with curly hair and knee-high leather boots hands one over. 

Nick holds it in his hand for a second, fingers wobbly, and then pulls out his phone. 

 _He was cute have fun, babe. be careful.Xx_ , Daisy's sent. 

Nick closes out of the text and googles: _smoking one cigarette while pregnant bad?_

He scans through the results. Huh. Other than Yahoo Answers, the consensus seems to be that yes, smoking a single cigarette while pregnant will surely lead your child down a road of pain and misery. 

Well, fuck.

He deletes the search, types in: _swallowing come while pregnant bad?_

Not that he did. He didn't, but- oh Jesus, his Google search historymakes him look like the devil. 

He shuts his phone off with a click of his thumb, shoves it in his back pocket. 

The door creaks open next to him, and he startles. 

It's Henry, though. Henry stumbles out into the alley, pulls out his phone.

"Hens?" 

Henry jumps, turns to him with wide eyes. 

"The fuck are you doing out here?" 

"Uhh," Nick says. Belatedly, he realizes he's still holding the fag. Henry's eyes drop down to it, and his face goes narrow. 

"You're fucking smoking?" 

"No!" Nick protests. "I didn't smoke it. I'm just… holding it." 

"You- you can't fucking smoke." Henry snatches the cigarette from Nick's fingers. "Jesus fuckin' _Christ_ , Nick."

He's drunk, Nick's realizing. Really drunk. 

"I wasn't-" 

"You're such a- a selfish- fucking- arsehole," Henry chokes out, throwing the fag on the ground. 

"Alright," Nick says, taking his arm. "You're really pissed." 

"I can be pissed if I want to be. Not _pregnant_ , am I." 

"Shut up," Nick hisses, peering at the group of people smoking. None of them seem to be listening. "Stop fucking shouting." 

"Fucking selfish." 

His voice is venomous, and he shakes Nick's hand off, takes two steps forward and says, voice choked, "Oh shit, think m'gonna be sick." 

"Are you serious?" Nick yelps. 

"I- shit." Henry swallows heavily, his face flushed red. "Maybe not." 

"Jesus, Hens. Let's get in a cab." 

"Not going with you," Henry says, flailing around when Nick tries to take his arm again. He's _wasted_. He doesn't usually get like this. Henry hates losing control. 

"Yes you are, idiot. You leave anything inside?" 

Henry shakes his head, swaying.He looks ill. Nick hopes he's not really gonna be sick. 

"C'mon, let's get you home, yeah?" Nick asks, and Henry glares at him from behind his glasses, but he lets Nick take his arm, lead him down the alleyway. 

Nick's not even sure why he's angry, but that's Henry for you. It's probably something Nick said six months ago and Henry's only drunk enough to admit it made him mad now. 

They pile into the back of a cab. Henry clutches the door handle, looking green. 

Nick's flat is up first. 

"You gonna be alright?" Nick asks, as he hands the cabbie enough to cover both their trips. 

"I'm fine," Henry says, grabbing at the door handle. "I'm fucking fine." 

"He doesn't look fine, sir," the cabbie says, looking terrified at the prospect of taking Henry any further. 

"I'm _fine_ ," Henry says, right before he gags, closes his mouth firmly, waves Nick out of the way and spits on the ground. 

"You're not fine," Nick mutters. "C'mon, get inside." 

Henry follows. He steps inside Nick's flat, balancing himself on the wall, as the cab pulls away. 

"Don't - touch my trousers," he mutters to Pig, who's trying to jump all over him. "Gerroff me, Pig." 

"Pig, c'mon, leave 'im alone." 

"Think I'm gonna be sick," Henry says, voice hoarse. 

"Alright." Nick steers him towards the toilet. God knows Henry's done it for him enough. He's seen Henry more drunk than this, but not by much. "There you are, Hens. Get you some water." 

He sets a towel on the ground for Henry's knees, watches him totter pitifully towards the toilet. 

"Take your glasses off," Nick says. 

Slowly, Henry does. 

When Nick comes back in, Henry's leaning against the wall, still on his knees. 

"Did you sick up?" 

Henry shakes his head. 

"Think you're going to?" 

Another head-shake. 

Nick huffs out a laugh. "Here's some water, then."

Henry takes the glass. 

"I want to go to bed," he mumbles. 

"D'you want to go home, Hens?" 

"No," Henry chokes out. "No. Too drunk." 

"You are pretty bloody drunk." 

"Shurrup," Henry slurs, but he lets Nick help him up. 

Nick sets him up in his bed, a bin by his face. Henry passes out immediately. He always looks strangely vulnerable without his glasses, like a turtle without its shell. 

His phone buzzes on the bed next to him, and Nick picks it up. 

_Dave: What time are you getting in? X_

Nick swipes the phone open and tries the latest password he can remember. Shit, Henry changes his password every three seconds, he's so paranoid of people stealing his fashion secrets. 

Nick stares at the phone, and then at Henry's body. 

He picks up Henry's limp hand, carefully presses his thumb to the center button.

Oh, _yes_. The phone unlocks. Nick grins. He's basically a spy. 

He calls Dave, padding out of the room and shutting the door gently behind him. 

"Hi babe," Dave murmurs, sounding sleepy. 

"Hey, it's Nick." 

"Oh," Dave says. "Hi. Is everything alright?" 

"Everything's fine. Henry's just pissed. Sleeping it off at my place." 

Dave hums. "Is he alright? Was he sick?"

"Not yet. Thought he might be, but well, not yet. He's passed out, though. Don't worry, I'll take good care of him." 

Dave hums again. Nick can't tell what the fuck he means from those hums. They don't sound nice, though. 

"Alright," he says. "Thanks. Tell him to call me tomorrow." 

"Yeah, no probl-" the line goes dead. Nick peers at the phone. _Call Ended_. 

Weird. The screen opens onto Henry's texts with Dave, and Nick doesn't- he really doesn't mean to look, he really doesn't. It's just, it's right there. And it's his _name._

_Henry: nick daisy annie a few others, x you can come out if you like!_

_Dave: I'm knackered babe_

_Dave: Nick huh? good luck with that. x_

Nick narrows his eyes, and scrolls up. 

Oh, shit. A week ago, Nick sees his name again, and it's- oh great, glad his mates are all so good at keeping his bloody secrets.

_Henry: Nick's pregnant_

_Dave: What????? What? Are you serious?_

_Henry: yeah. aimee just told me. fully fucking pregnant. nearly four months, due in february_

_Dave: Whose is it ?_

_Henry: he doesn't even bloody know_

_Henry: someone random. Aims says hes doing it on his own and it wasn't planned._

_Dave: Jesus christ_

_Dave: Can I call you??_

_Henry: give me ten minutes im just finishing up a few emails. you alright?_

_Dave: Idk. No. Just want to hear your voice please_

_Henry: i'll call right now i love you_

Nick clicks the phone off with his thumb, quietly pushes open the door. 

Henry's still passed out, clutching at a pillow. Nick got him down to his undershirt and briefs, and he's shivering a little. 

Nick watches him for a minute. 

"Arsehole," he says, quietly. Henry doesn't move. 

Nick tugs a blanket over him, tucking it up to Henry's neck, and then crawls into bed next to him. 

\---

"You angry with me?" Nick asks the next morning, peering over at Henry. Henry's crunching down an ice cube, staring at the telly, his eyes bloodshot and tired. He's managed to not be sick - a true feat- but his hangover is preventing any sudden movements. 

"Why would I be angry with you?" 

"Dunno." Nick throws his head back against the couch. "Just, like, last night. You were a bit- belligerent."

"No clue why I'd be angry," Henry says lightly. "Oh, d'you mean because you bloody tripped your way into an accidental pregnancy and Dave and I haven't been able to manage it for two years?" 

There it is. Nick blinks up at the ceiling. 

That's not entirely true. They did manage it, last year, but Dave miscarried three months in. Nick brought over two bottles of vodka and got them absolutely twatted. It didn't really help, but Nick didn't know what else to do. He never knows how to deal with that sort of thing.

"It's not your fault," Henry exhales, after a long minute. 

"You can still be angry. I would be." 

Henry huffs out a breath, puts his head back til they're both staring upwards. 

"Suppose I am, then," he says. 

Nick exhales slowly. 

"I mean, who the fuck gets knocked up off a one night fucking stand?" Henry asks, something tight and sad in his voice. "What are you, a fucking rom-com character?" 

Nick doesn't say anything. 

"And if you're that bloody fertile, how the hell haven't you got knocked up before? Been fucked enough, haven't you?" 

Nick huffs a sour laugh. 

"And now I'm s'posed to feel bad, because you didn't _want_ this. Like it's just some big fucking accident. _Oh, whoopsies, I'm fucking pregnant_!" 

Henry breaks off, sucks in a breath. 

Nick chews his lip. His eyes are blurry. That's how it is with Henry though. Needs to let the venom out, sometimes. 

"I don't know what you want me to say," Henry says, after a long silence. "Like, d'you want me to pat you on the back and say I'm sorry cos you're having a baby you don't want?" 

Nick shakes his head. 

"I don't- I don't know how to be your friend right now, you know?" Henry whispers. His voice cracks. 

"Yeah," Nick says. He coughs, lifts his head. "I get it." 

"Doesn't mean I'm not." Henry rubs his fingers under his glasses, letting out a gust of breath. "I'm just- it's hard." 

"Yeah." 

Henry leans forward, sets his glass down. 

"Gonna go home, I think." 

"Okay," Nick says. His throat hurts. 

Henry stands up, wincing and rubbing at his temples.

"Hey," Nick says, swallowing hard, thinking of the texts he read. Of someone asking when you'll be home, the warmth of that. "I know you don't- you don't have this, yet, but you have everything else. Alright? You've got everything." 

Henry looks down at him. 

"Fuck you for saying that, Grim," he says, softly.  

"Hens-" 

"That seemed necessary to say? Right now?" 

"All I'm saying is that you've got Dave, alright? You've got-" 

"Oh god, I get it, let's hear it," Henry says in a drawl, his jaw clenching. "You're sooo lonely, right, Nick? Never mind that you've been going through boys like loo roll for _years_ and no one's ever been good enough. Never mind that you've been hung up on a fucking popstar since he was a teenager. But wait, we don't talk about that, right?" 

Nick goes breathless with rage. 

"You constantly fucking break up with people!" Henry snaps. "And you say they weren't bloody right for you like you even gave them a chance! Maybe no one's ever going to be as perfect as Harry, but that doesn't mean-" 

"Don't fucking talk about Harry," Nick snaps, voice shaking. 

"- oh my _God_ , Nick, I'm so tired of tiptoeing around your little secret affair for the past six years. We get it, you fucked a popstar who fancies women. How _groundbreaking_. Do you not even see how he uses you for his little sexuality experiments?" 

Nick stares up at him blearily. 

"I can't- I can't," Henry stammers, raising his hands. "I honestly can't be around you right this second." 

"Harry didn't use me. Doesn't." 

Henry laughs bitterly. "Sure, Grim, keep telling yourself that." 

"He bloody doesn't," Nick chokes out. "He doesn't. I don't even - we're not like that. Haven't even told him about the baby, so don't fucking tell me he uses me, Hens, you fucking prick, you don't know how we are." 

Henry goes still, where he's scrubbing at his face with both hands. He turns to Nick. 

"Told him about the _baby_?" he breathes. 

Nick stares back up at him helplessly. 

"The- the- oh god," Henry says faintly. "Oh my god." 

"Henry-" 

Henry swallows hard. "It's Harry's?" 

Nick groans out a breath. "You can't tell anyone." 

"Jesus, Nick. Jesus. What've you bloody done." 

"Stumbled into a fucking pregnancy, haven't you heard," Nick says nastily, dropping his hand and glaring up at Henry. "Cos I'm just so fucking fertile." 

"Harry doesn't know?" Henry says in a small voice. 

Nick shakes his head.  

"You going to tell him?" 

Nick lets out a sour laugh. "Wasn't planning on it." 

"Why not?" Henry asks, low. 

The letter's tucked away in Nick's desk drawer. Nick tries not to think about it.

"You were right," he says. "Harry doesn't want more than a shag, so. Wouldn't be interested in all this." 

"How d'you know that if he doesn't know?" 

"Because I bloody well do." 

Henry looks like he wants to ask more questions. He visibly bites them down, says only, "Who else knows?" 

Nick sighs. 

"Aimee, Ian, Daisy. That's it." 

"Not Gellz?" 

"No. And if you say anything, I'll bloody kill you." 

Henry nods, looking a little mollified. He always did like knowing Nick's secrets before Gillian did. 

"I can't- holy shit, Nick. You're having a secret popstar baby." 

Nick blinks up at him, and then chokes out a rough laugh. "Yeah, guess so." 

"A secret closeted popstar baby. That's like a tabloid wet dream." 

Nick sniffs out another laugh. His throat aches. "Pretty much." 

Henry flicks a piece of hair out of his eyes, his face far-off and distracted. He sits back down on the sofa next to Nick.

"How d'you know it's not someone else's?"

"Use condoms with everyone else," Nick says quickly, and then, quieter, "There hasn't - there hasn't been anyone else." 

Henry raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, in the timeframe of - of the getting knocked up, there wasn't anyone else then," Nick adds, stumbling over his words. "Just - him." 

"Just him, and no condom. What the fuck were you thinking?" 

"We were drunk," Nick mutters. "I barely remember it. He was only in town for a day, like. He was gone when I woke up." 

Something cracks in his voice, shamefully, but Henry ignores it, nods slowly. He leans back on the sofa, carefully slides an arm around Nick's shoulders, like the last twenty minutes didn't even happen. Like he can tell how close Nick is to crying. 

"Well, look on the bright side, Grim," Henry says quietly after a long minute. Nick tips his head against Henry's shoulder, exhales, eyes closing. "At least you know your kid'll be cute." 

Nick laughs brokenly, and Henry squeezes him tightly. 

"Look at what I googled last night," Nick says, digging out his phone. "If you really wanna see that I'm a bloody mess." 

He shows Henry the screen, and Henry peers at it for a minute and thenbreaks into laughter. 

"Nick, Jesus _Christ_. You little slut." 

"I know." Nick's laughing a little. "Honestly, I swear, I didn't even swallow, but I was just curious, I dunno-" 

"You pulled last night? What, that bloke who bought us drinks?" 

Nick nods, putting his head on Henry's shoulder again. 

"Just sucked him off," he says. "Didn't even, like. I dunno. I feel so weird. Didn't even want him to do me." 

Henry rubs his shoulder a little. 

"Dave got a bit weird about it when he was- y'know, last year," he says, voice carefully flat. "Didn't always want to be touched. Think it's normal. Course, it's not like that ended well, so don't take my fucking word for it." 

Nick exhales against Henry's shirt. 

"I'm sorry," he says, muffled. "About, like. What happened, and about - all this." 

Henry sighs. 

"Not your fault, is it." 

"Still." 

"Just don't whinge on about it to Dave, alright? It's still- hard. He took it hard. You're not his favorite person right now." 

"Was I ever?" 

Henry pinches him. "Don't start."

Nick shoves his hand off, rubbing at the skin. "I won't. Go on about it, I mean. Promise." 

Henry turns his head to kiss Nick's temple, and Nick slowly closes his eyes. 

\---

He goes out for a production lunch with Matt that Wednesday - a rarity, since they're technically still off til the week after, but Matt's got a _vision for autumn_ , apparently. 

When Nick gets back from the toilet, Matt's checking his phone and there's two bottles of beer on the table. 

Nick slides into his seat, gulps his water, and Matt says without looking up, "Got you a Stella." 

"Yeah, I'm alright," Nick says. "Thanks, though." 

Matt looks up, setting his phone on the table. "C'monn, Nick, be a lad for once," he says, laughing a little. 

"I'm off booze, actually," Nick says, keeping his face very blank. "It's a cleanse. Pix and I have been doing it for a while." 

"Well, I won't tell her if you don't," Matt says, nodding at the beer. "Go on. It's a Friday and it's afternoon, I'm surprised you're not halfway through a pitcher of sangria by now."

"Shut up," Nick says, snorting, and he takes another sip of his water, says, "So, why'd Lizzy text me this morning asking if you were going to have to work over the weekend? Are you goooing somewhere, Matt Fincham? Romantic holiday?" 

Matt rolls his eyes, and then says, "Drink your beer, I feel like an idiot drinking by myself." 

He's weirdly conscious of things like that. Nick drinks by himself all the time. Well, like, by himself when he's with his friends but they aren't drinking. 

God, he used to go out with Sadie when she was knocked up and get plastered. She'd have to drag him home. Practicing that mothering instinct, Nick used to joke.

And now he's the one who's- 

He takes another forceful gulp of water. "It's a cleanse," he whines. "I'm trying to be good." 

Matt looks up at him, eyebrows furrowing. 

"How long's the thing supposed to last, anyway?" he says. "Since when have you been doing it?"

"Ummm, like. Last weekend?" Nick says, peering at his menu. He's sweating a bit, at his temples. 

"Last weekend," Matt says slowly. 

"Yeah, it's a like a long-term-ish thing," Nick says lightly. "Ooh, I want chips. Chips with cheese." 

"You can eat chips on a cleanse?" Matt asks, picking up his menu as well. 

"It's just a booze thing," Nick says hastily. Fucking hell, can Matt just let it alone? 

There's a moment of silence as they peruse their menus, and then Matt puts his down and says, "Tuesday morning you were sick in the toilet and you told me you had a hangover." 

Nick forces himself not to look up from the menu, even as his pulse picks up a notch. He thought Matt wouldn’t give that a second thought. The puking’s been way down in the past month, he thought he was safe.

"Mm," he says loudly. "I fancy a burger, what about you?" 

"You've been hungover a lot," Matt says, slowly. "More than usual. And not just - you've been puking sometimes. Like _all_ the time last month, in the mornings, you’d be sick-" 

"I just had a stomach bug for a bit," Nick says, forcing a laugh. "Christ, can you drop it?" 

“And you're on a cleanse, so why would you-" Matt says, and then his face shudders with shock, and he looks up at Nick with his eyes so wide Nick can't really escape them. Oh, fuck. This is probably it. 

"You- are you-" Matt stammers. "Are you-" 

Nick laughs again, loud and fake. "Jesus, _what_? Can you put your tongue back in your mouth? We’re in public." 

"Oh my god, I'm such an idiot," Matt murmurs to himself. "I'm such an idiot." 

"Finally he admits it-" 

"You're pregnant," Matt says, staring at him. "Aren't you?" 

Nick attempts a laugh, but it comes out weird and choked. 

"No," he says, breathless. "That's - that's ridiculous." 

"You've been sick in the mornings, you haven't been drinking, you keep having random doctor's appointments in the afternoons, and you've put on weight-" 

"Hey!" 

"Oh my god, ohmygod, oh my god," Matt mumbles, covering his face with his hands. "I- I can't believe this. I can't believe I didn't figure it out _sooner_." 

Nick feels a little bit like he might cry. Not that he expected Matt to be overjoyed, but like. Matt's acting like he's just heard Nick's got cancer, not a little human inside him. 

"Yeah, well, don't bloody worry about it, alright," Nick says, lifting his menu again to hide his glassy eyes. "It won't fuck up the show." 

"It won't-" Matt repeats, dazedly, and then the menu's being yanked down and Matt's peering at him angrily. "Christ, Nick, is that why you didn't - I'm just surprised, alright? Don't act like I'm mad, I'm not bloody angry with you." 

"I know that," Nick says acidly. "And you wouldn't have a bloody right to be."

"I know," Matt says, watching him. "Shit. I just - shit. You're - you're really pregnant." 

Nick shrugs, sticking a fingernail into his mouth. "That's what they tell me." 

"Jesus," Matt breathes. "How long's it been?" 

"Sixteen weeks," Nick says. "Tomorrow.”

"Four months, and you didn't _tell_ me?" Matt says, and then immediately breathes out slowly. "Shit, sorry. I'm just. I didn't think you'd. I just didn't even know you wanted-" 

"I didn't want it," Nick snaps. "I didn't know it was going to fucking happen." 

"Are you alright?" Matt asks, voice going quieter. "Like, are you alright with this?" 

Nick has to swallow suddenly, a hot lump sitting in his throat. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, and isn't that a simplification. Fine. Is he fine? He's got no clue how he is, but it's happening, and he'll figure it out. He's got a few months yet. 

"You're going to- I mean, you'll, you know- like, you're gonna-" 

"I'm keeping it, yeah, Matt," Nick says sharply, and a waiter steps up to the table, appearing out of nowhere with a notepad in hand. 

"What can I get you?" he says, grinning sunnily down at them. Matt blinks at him like he's just resurfaced from a scuba dive. 

"Um," he says. "I- burger. Chips. Please." 

"Same for me," Nick says quickly, and the waiter takes their menus and leaves. 

Matt leans in again, and Nick really doesn't feel like dealing with the inevitable question, so he says quickly, "I'm doing it by myself. Just. So you know." 

Matt sits back, chagrined. Takes a sip of his beer. 

"So you can save all the who's-the-father questions," Nick says, not looking at him, fiddling with his napkin. "Alright? He’s not in the picture." 

"Alright," Matt says. "Sorry." 

Nick shrugs with one shoulder, drags his fingernail down the center of the napkin and watches it shred. 

"Anyway," he says. "Let's not talk about it. Boring." 

"We're gonna have to talk about it later," Matt says warningly. "About, you know. Press stuff, what it'll mean for the show. Paternity leave, all that." 

Nick huffs out a sigh. "Yeah, I know, Fincham, but that's like ages away." 

Matt stares at him for a second, considering, and then his mouth curves up at the corner, giddily.

"You're gonna be a dad," he says, grinning. "That's amazing, Nick." 

Nick goes red. 

"It's a bit alright, innit," he says. 

"Little radio baby," Matt says, looking a little misty. "Bring it into studio. Get it little teeny headphones. Fifi'll probably drop it-" 

"Fifi's not coming anywhere near this infant," Nick laughs, and Matt snorts. 

"Yeah, good point. Its first word'll be, like, Heat Magazine. Or Paolo Nutini. Keep that child _away_." 

\---

"What’s Harry Styles up to now?" Matt says on air the week after, laughing, craning across the desk to look at the Heat magazine Nick’s poring over. 

"Same old same old," Nick says. "Island living. Probably sipping from a coconut as we speak." 

The photo of Harry is grainy, far-away, but you can tell it’s him. His tattoos. He’s shirtless, in short yellow shorts, climbing onto a boat. 

"I want to be on an island right now," Fiona says dreamily. 

"With Harry Styles? Wow, Fi." Matt snorts. "Nick, are you passing the torch?" 

"Do you think that joke will ever get old?" Nick says, keeping his voice very light. Harry’s face is too far away to tell, but Nick bets he’s happy. He wonders if Harry’s, like, found himself yet. 

"Probably not," Matt says brightly. "Play a song, Nick, we’re on radio." 

"Oh alright," Nick sighs, reading the last line of the article again - _Our source said, “It doesn’t seem like Harry wants to come back anytime soon. He’s having the time of his life away from the cameras and the pressure.”_  

He swallows, and hits play on some Disclosure, starts reading the article over again from the beginning, helplessly. 

"I’d just wanna be away from you lot," Fiona says, wrestling a piece of paper away from Matt, laughing, and Nick jumps when Ian puts a hand over the photo, slides the magazine away from him. 

"Hey," Nick whines. 

Ian gives him a look, and picks up the magazine, tosses it to Fiona, who immediately starts flicking through it. 

"Don’t," Ian says into his ear. 

"I’m fine," Nick mutters back, surly. He digs out his phone. 

"That better be off, Nick!" Matt calls. "Harry probably doesn’t have reception on that island, anyway!" 

"Fuck off," Nick snaps, and he means for it to be funny, but it comes out a little too sharp. He looks down at his phone. "Enough with the Harry stuff. It’s old."

He glances up from his phone, and - oh. Shit. Matt’s watching him with his eyes wide, and Nick feels like a deer in headlights. God, he hates that face, when Matt figures something out. He really hates it. And he’s seen it too often lately. 

Matt looks down, his face gone pale, and starts shuffling determinedly through some papers. 

Nick catches Ian’s eye. He looks worried. 

Fiona’s still flipping through Heat, blessedly unaware. 

"My god, look at Ariana Grande’s _hair_ ,” she says. “It’s amazing. How does she do that?” She pokes at her own curly hair absently. “Remember when she only wore that high ponytail?” 

"Yeah," Nick says, distracted. "Wait, lemme see this magical hair." 

When the song ends he launches into a link about Ariana Grande’s hair, and doesn’t think about Harry again, or what Matt thinks he knows, or anything. 

\---

Matt stops him after the show, of course. 

"I’m in like a massive hurry," Nick says, hastily, buttoning up his jacket. "I’ve got meetings." 

"I know your schedule, you know," Matt says. "Kind of part of being your producer. To, like, know stuff about you-" 

"Matt." 

"Does he know?" Matt says, very quietly. "About- about the baby?"

Nick exhales. “Matt, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.” 

"Am I?" Matt says, low. 

"Yes," Nick laughs. "Don’t be stupid." 

"He doesn’t even know, does he?" Matt whispers. "You haven’t told him." 

"This is not something we’re going to talk about." Nick pushes his arm away when Matt tries to grab his shoulder. "Okay?" 

"Everyone’s going to ask," Matt says. "When you start telling people- you know. Everyone is going to ask you, Nick. It’s the first place they’ll look." 

"They can ask whatever they want," Nick says, forcing a smile. "It’s all just rumors."

"He’ll find out about it."

"That’s the thing, though," Nick says. "He won’t. Because he is conveniently located on a fucking desert island with no phone or Internet." 

"Not forever, Nick-" 

"Enough time." Nick grabs his bag. "He’ll be there long enough." 

"Nick-" 

"I’m not going over this with you," Nick snaps. "See you tomorrow." 

\---

A week later he has a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, the first one he’s gone to on his own. Usually he’d have someone along - Daisy or Collette or Aimee or Pix - but everyone was busy or out of town or working so it’s just him. 

They look at the baby together, Nick and Dr. Sani, and she points out where the feet are, and the hands, and Nick stares at the screen until his eyes blur, gel drying on his stomach. 

"Let me get a print-out for you, Nick," Dr. Sani says, patting his hand. She leaves Nick alone in the room to get dressed again, and Nick doesn’t look at himself in the mirror while he shrugs his shirt on. He can feel it, anyway, the way he’s starting to show. Nearly five months. Thank god it’s all happening as summer slides into autumn and he can wear jumpers without looking mental. That’ll give him another month or so before it starts to get obvious. A month is _ages_. He’ll figure out how to explain it by then, probably.

He looks up when Dr. Sani knocks and comes back in, hands him the sonogram. 

"Now, at your five-month appointment we’ll be able to determine the gender, if that’s something you want to do," she says, sliding a piece of paper across her desk to him. Nick peers at it, and then looks back at the sonogram. 

"Yeah, I’ve definitely got to find it out," he says. "I’m no good with surprises." 

"I think you’ve been dealing with this one pretty well so far," Dr. Sani says, nodding at his belly, and Nick grins at her. 

"Was that a _joke_ , Dr. Sani?” 

"It was as close as I’ll ever get," she says, squeezing his arm. "Take care of yourself, Nick. Call if you need to get in sooner than two weeks." 

"Yeah, cheers," he says, and she waves him out. In the waiting room there’s a woman leaning against a man’s shoulder, her belly big, her eyes closed. Nick smiles at the man, looks away. 

In the front seat, he looks at the picture for a while more before he starts the car. It’s so mad. It’s so, so mad to look at it. 

Nick keeps all the sonograms in a drawer in his desk, in case someone who doesn’t need to know comes over to his flat. 

Harry would probably put it up on the fridge with a magnet. A baby magnet bought specially for the occasion, with _We’re expecting_ on it. Probably send out copies to his mum and dad. He’d probably cry when Dr. Sani found the heartbeat for the first time. 

He will, someday. With someone else.

Nick huffs a sour laugh at the thought, and carefully tucks the papers aside, turns up the radio to drown out all the woe-is-me thoughts, and takes off. 

\---

He can't bloody fall asleep, that night. He's been lying there for forty minutes and he can't fall asleep. He keeps thinking the baby's kicking, even though that's not supposed to happen yet, but it's probably just all the pizza he ingested for tea doing terrible things to his insides. 

He checks the clock, winces. Nearly twelve. He'll have to get up in the morning after five hours sleep - if he ever even sleeps at all. 

The thought makes him shiver, and he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand like a security blanket, swipes it open. 

 _Harry Harry Harry_ \- no. Nope. No reading their old texts, some of which Nick has taken screenshots of like a mad person. No. 

He calls Aimee instead, because Aimee distracts him best. 

"Hi, babe," Aimee says after two rings. "What's up?" 

"Nothing," Nick says. "Can't sleep." 

"Is this a booty call?" she says, laughing, and he hears a muffled protest in the distance. 

"Ian there?" 

"Yeah. Why can't you sleep, babe? Don't tell me you had too much coffee-" 

"No," Nick sighs. "Lots of dairy though." 

"Ew, I don't need the gory details." 

Nick huffs out a laugh, digs his head back into his pillow. He's lying on his side facing the wall. Pig's snugged up against his back so he really shouldn't feel lonely, and yet. Here he fucking is. 

"I just- I dunno. Just wanted to say good night to someone, I guess." 

Aimee breathes for a second, and Nick squeezes his eyes shut.

"Ugh, don't ever repeat that to anyone." 

"Won't," she says. "It's okay. Love you, you know that?" 

"Yeah," Nick mumbles. 

There's a silence. Nick can hear her breathing.

"Aims?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you think, like. Do you think I'm ever gonna, like, figure something out, with someone?" He's sleepy and the words come out jumbled and it's a bit embarrassing. 

"Figure something out?" she asks, voice quiet. 

"Like, I just, I - I keep thinking about it just being me and the - you know, like forever, like what if it's honestly just me forever and I have to do it all by myself?" 

His voice breaks on the last word, and he puts a hand over his face. 

"Oh god," he says. "Just forget I said that, okay? That was so whiny. I’m being so whiny. I'm going to bed-" 

"Babe," Aimee interrupts. "Babe." 

"I'm going to bed!" 

"Don't fucking hang up the phone, Nicholas." 

Nick stops, chews his bottom lip. 

"You're not going to be by yourself," Aimee says softly. "I promise. Okay? It feels like that right now, because it's late and you're tired, but I promise that's not what it's going to be. Maybe right now but not always." 

"How do you know, though," Nick mumbles. 

"Because I just know. Because I know everything, Nicholas." 

Nick huffs out a laugh. 

"D'you want me to come over?" Aimee asks. 

"No, no, I'm fine." 

"I can if you want." 

"It's fine, Aims. Honestly." 

She sighs. 

"Good night," Nick whispers. 

"Good night," she says back. "Love you." 

"Love you too." 

"Just try to relax and go to sleep, okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"G'night." 

"Night," Nick mumbles, and he hangs up, drops his phone on the nightstand and digs his face into his pillow. 

\---

The next morning Ian shows up at 8:30 with a cheese and bacon toastie from Pret, which he places delicately in front of Nick and then awkwardly pats his shoulder. 

"Morning!" he says brightly, before dashing away to the other side of the desk to get in front of a mic.

Nick's face goes red, and he pokes at his toastie. 

"Awww, look at you," Fiona coos. "Lads!" 

"Toastie lads!" Ian says. "Good morning, everybody!" 

"Ian, did you just bring Nick breakfast?" Matt says. 

"You know what, I just thought, Nick doesn't get enough appreciation for waking up at half-five every morning-" 

"Where's my toastie then!" Fiona demands. 

"I'd like a yoghurt, please, Ian-" Matt adds. 

"Hush, all of you," Nick says, authoritatively, and then he grins. "Let me eat my toastie in peace." 

Fiona mutters something threatening, shaking her head. 

Nick intros the next song and then digs in. It really is pretty amazing. Ian's still a little shithead who shouldn't have heard whatever crap Nick was spewing on the phone last night, but he's temporarily forgiven.

"Good?" Ian says, sliding over to him in his office chair. 

Nick shrugs noncommittally, even though he's just taken a massive bite. He swallows, and says, "You know what, I miss the days when I could talk to my best mate without my bloody coworker listening in." 

"S'not my fault!" Ian yelps. "We're married, she's right next to me, I'm not gonna pop in earplugs every time you call."

Nick gives him a look. 

"Codependency is a serious problem, Ian," he says loftily. 

"For Aimee and _you_ , maybe," Ian says right back, and Nick holds his glare for a minute before he breaks and snorts, takes another bite of his toastie and kicks Ian’s chair away. 

\---

_3.9.17: **OH BABY: IS RADIO ONE'S GRIMMY ACTUALLY KNOCKED-UP?**_

_We're not the type to judge what anyone puts in their mouth. Beach bods or no, we understand the appeal of cheese n' chips as much as the next girl. So of course we were outraged by the latest drivel from professional provocateur Perez Hilton about our beloved Grimmers, Radio One DJ extraordinaire and best mate of MIA Harry Styles. Perez had some nasty words to tweet on Friday…_

_"@grimmers is eating himself through the heartbreak of losing @Harry_Styles to an island apparently…"_

_"@grimmers Unless you'd like to share some news with us?? Little miracle on the way? #foodbaby [tongue emoji]"_

_OK, Perez. Those in glass houses or whatevs… But we have to admit his tweets got us thinking. According to a source who spoke to Heat Mag, ol' Grimmy's actually got a baby on the way._

_"Nick's really excited. He's finally decided to start a family and doesn't want to wait for the right guy anymore."_

_"He's been trying for a long time and gone to several sperm banks. This time it took and he's so ready for fatherhood."_

_Squee! Can we even IMAGINE the adorableness of a baby Grimmy? The Instagram selfies alone would probably kill us dead. Grimbles hasn't commented on the story, so we'll take it all with a hefty grain of salt, but we at Sugarscape would be totally chuffed. Totally available for babysitting, Nick! If baby-crazy Hazza doesn't get the job first, of course…_

_What d'ya reckon? Is our favorite DJ "Nick'ed-up" or just getting started early on his winter body? Comments purlease!_

\---

"Hey Ian," Nick says, setting a copy of Heat magazine down on the desk at ten minutes past nine. There's an unflattering photo of his stomach on page three, but Nick's pointedly ignoring it. "You fancy seeing something?" 

"Yeah," Ian says gamely, sliding over next to him. "What has Justin Bieber done now? Other than become irrelevant?" 

"Shut up, Bieber is eternal," Nick says, and then he opens the magazine, shows Ian the sonogram he's got hidden inside. It feels a bit 16 And Pregnant, showing someone his baby right between an article about Brangelina's kid going off to school and Zac Efron getting back together with his High School Musical girlfriend. 

"Whoa," Ian whispers, reaching out and tugging the photo towards him. 

Nick checks to make sure the cameras are off. 

"Yeah," he says. "Mad, innit?" 

"Yeah." Ian's staring down at it. "When'd you get this?" 

"Doctor's appointment last week," Nick says quietly, squinting at the sonogram. "See, look, that's its arm. Or. Or maybe that's its leg, I can't remember. Looks like a leg. Hard to tell. Just looks a bit blobby, I guess." 

"That's amazing," Ian breathes. "Jesus, Nick. This is actually happening." 

"I know." 

"That's, like, inside you. Like a tiny blob person. Inside you. A tiny blob version of _you_." 

Nick snorts. "I _know_." 

"When're you gonna find out if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Next appointment," Nick says, stomach clenching nervously. "Five months." 

Ian grins at him, a secret little grin, eyebrows raising. "What do you think, then? Got a prediction?" 

Nick shakes his head, looks back down at the photo. 

"Got nothing," he says. "No clue." 

"Oh c'mon." 

"I don't!" he laughs. "I don't even know how I'd go about making a guess." 

Ian shakes his head, faux-disappointed. "Nicholas." 

"I don't," Nick repeats, running a hand through his quiff. "All I know is that I'll have to tell people soon. Even the Mail's jumped on it now. Who the fuck came up with me going to some _sperm bank_?" 

"You look normal, I think," Ian says. "Just a bit, like, puffy?" 

"Oh _thanks._ " 

Ian snorts. "Puffy was a bad choice, I'm sorry. Bit nasty." 

Nick kicks him under the table, and then slides the sonogram and magazine back into his bag. "I dunno. I feel like I look massive. Heat says I've got a _definite bump_ -" 

"Nick, you're back on," Matt calls, mouth full of cereal, huddling safely away from the microphones. 

Nick slides back up to the desk just as Selena Gomez fades out, and says, "Some Selena for you there, and before that some HAIM, the latest off their third record, that was Take Me. It is a Friday morning and I am _feeling_ it, aren't you, Finchy?" 

"Oh yeah," Matt says, wiping his mouth. 

"How about you, little Ian? Had to come in at six-thirty cos Fiona's away doing who knows what. Still feeling alright?" 

"I feel great, actually," Ian says cheerily.

"Don't get too excited, Fiona'll make you switch shifts," Matt says, wagging his finger.

"Yeah, careful, Ian." Nick laughs. "You don't want this life." 

\---

He makes it one more week before it gets urgent. He wakes up one morning, stumbles over to the toilet for a piss, and gets caught up staring at the curve of his belly. 

It's not like, awful. He's been bigger. Maybe not since he was about nineteen and very emotionally attached to potatoes, but it's still passable. It's just - it shows, and people won't stop going on about it, and it's not going to go away.

Maybe it's time. 

\---

"Wait, no," Aimee says later that night, leaning over to peer at the screen of Nick's phone. "Don't say that bit about how far along you are. People can figure it out." 

"Just say it's due in February, maybe?" Ian suggests, stealing Daisy's drink and taking a gulp. 

"Good lord," Nick mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was all gung-ho about telling people this morning, but he didn't know it'd be such a pain in the arse. "Can't I just tweet - _Was an immaculate conception. I am the next coming of Christ. Jesus Beyoncé Grimshaw will appear fully formed at some point next year._ " 

Aimee snorts. "As amazing as that would be, babe, no, you can't actually say that." 

"What'd your agent say again?" Ian asks. 

"Keep it short, under three tweets, be discreet, don't try and be too funny, don't mention anything about - you know." 

"Harry," Daisy says. "We all know, Grim." 

Nick sighs. Daisy pats his shoulder.

"Alright," he says, opening his Twitter app. “Let’s do this.”

"Wait!" Aimee yelps, pulling his hands off. Nick nearly tweets _Awejhjlkasfjd. "_ Write it in a note first, you'll end up accidentally hitting Post and causing a meltdown with some half-finished tweet you didn't even edit." 

"I don't edit my tweets, Aimee. A free-flowing stream of witticisms, me. Can't be tamed." 

"Last week you literally called me and read one out before you posted it to see if I'd think it was funny," Ian says dryly. “And I said it wasn’t and you posted it anyway.”

"You're editing this one, idiot," Aimee says firmly, pulling up a blank note. 

Nick sighs. "Fine." 

He exhales, types - _Guess what?_

"What?" Aimee says, horrified. " _What_? You are not writing _guess what_." 

"Guess what, tweeps!" Ian chirps, in an awful imitation of Nick's voice. "Knocked up, yo! Siiiick!" 

Nick shoves him, as Daisy giggles. 

"Here," Aimee says bossily, grabbing the phone from him.

 _Good news everyone!_ she types. _Baby Grimshaw is a go!! Yes, the rumors are true. I'm not just bulking up for the winter_. 

"That’s nasty!" Nick protests. Ian snorts. Aimee keeps typing, hitting Enter to start on a new line.

_Due February 2018. I expect baby's first album to drop shortly after . Wish me luck in not drinking [skull emoji] and y'know being a Dad or whatever. [baby emoji] [thumbs up emoji]_

"That does kind of sound like you, Nick," Ian says, hushed. "Aims, you're a genius." 

"Oh, I could ghost-tweet for Nick with one hand tied behind my back," Aimee says, smugly. 

"What about, like - you know. The dad," Nick says, reading the tweets a few times. He'll admit they're not terrible. An adequate imitation of Nick's natural charm and wit. "People'll start asking." 

"Let them," Aimee says, voice fierce like she'll personally go find anyone who bothers Nick and club them round the head. 

"We'll figure something out," Daisy says from his other side, softly. "Just avoid anyone's questions." 

"They'll ask about Harry," Nick says, forcing out a sour laugh. "I mean, they'll directly ask about him, they already do." 

"Then say no, or no comment, or ignore them," Aimee says. "I dunno, Nina'll be able to figure something out, right?" 

Nick nods, slowly. He copies the first one, opens up Twitter, pastes it into the actual textbox. 

"Well," he says. "Are we doing this?" 

Aimee looks it over again, humming thoughtfully. 

"Maybe three exclamation points after the second sentence?" she says. "And, like, an emoji at the beginning?" 

"Aubergine and okay sign?" Nick asks, innocently. 

Aimee snorts.

"What about the little bells and confetti," Ian suggests. “Festive.”

"Smug moon," Daisy says. 

"Heart eyes smiley face?" Aimee adds. 

Nick studies the screen, painstakingly adds the wide-open-eyes emoji to the very beginning of the tweet, and hits Send. 

"Holy shit," Aimee says. 

"You just, like, _went_ for that." Ian sounds awed. 

"Free-flowing stream of- of witticisms, I told you," Nick says weakly, immediately feeling queasy with a wave of post-tweet regret. He stares at the phone. Bloody fucking hell. This is actually happening. It’s not like he would’ve been able to hide it for too much longer, anyway, but _still_.

"Quick, do the second one," Aimee says, and Nick hastily opens up the note where Aimee's typed it out, copies it. 

In another ten seconds, that one's sent as well. They're both, like, out there. Nick's notifications keep blinking, too fast to count. 

"Shit," he says. "Shit. Oh god. Everyone knows." 

"Get ready for the storm, babe," Aimee says softly. 

Nick tosses his phone aside, hands shaking. 

"Let's watch telly," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "And, like, do nothing. Someone take my phone away from me. Someone fetch the crisps." 

Ian slips Nick's phone into his pocket, and Daisy helps him up from the chair, Nick's legs gone wobbly. 

They're good about it - set him up on the sofa with all the blankets he’s got, and salt and vinegar crisps and Ribena and chocolate and the remote. Nick eats and gossips about this year's Strictly contestants and tries not to break into hysterical tears. 

What if Harry sees?

He won't. He can't. Harry hasn't tweeted in months. He hasn't posted a photo to Instagram, or texted anyone, or even favorited something. 

Well, he hasn't texted Nick. Nick can't be sure who else he's talking to. 

The point remains - Harry is entirely off the grid. On an island pursuing greater things than wi-fi and celebrity gossip. No time at all to open up Twitter and see that the bloke he fucked without a condom six months ago is now suspiciously knocked-up. Harry’s no Einstein, but he can put two and two together, if he had any inclination to glance at his phone. 

He won’t. Nick just knows he won't. Harry’s gone for good this time. 

Better this way, innit. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Daily Mail’s home page headline on Sunday is in bold capital letters, and Nick lets out a shaky breath. Here they bloody go. 

_RADIO ONE'S NICK GRIMSHAW PREGNANT, OTHER FATHER IS A MYSTERY: Could this explain the sudden disappearance of One Direction lothario Harry Styles?_

Ten points for using lothario. Don't see it that often these days. Nick huffs a sour laugh. He skims the article- blah blah blah, best friends, bisexual rumors, One Direction break-up, remote island, sudden pregnancy announcement, etcetera. It's all somewhat on the nose, unfortunately, except the article posits that Harry found out about the baby and left. Unflattering, that. 

There's a photo of Nick leaving the Beeb, wind blowing his shirt against his belly, making him look huge. A screenshot of his two tweets announcing the pregnancy. A grainy picture of Harry that some random person took with their cellphone at LAX the weekend he left. It's the last shot anyone's managed to get of him, other than blurry photos of him swimming off the coast. He really is good at hiding. Nick's grateful for that, even under the circumstances. Harry deserves a break, he honestly does. 

He chews his lip, idly scrolling, and - oh. Lovely. The first comment is from someone named Larry4lyfe and it reads " _nick girmshaw is a pedo thers no way harry had sex with him. harry is in love with louis. dont associate him with that slut and his crack baby eww."_

Nick laughs, because what else is he supposed to do. Crack baby slut. Be a good name for a band, that. 

He can't keep himself from looking. The next comment is similarly kind and thoughtful.

_hes probbly been pricking holes in his condoms for years now lol_

Nick keeps going, until he's read all twenty-six comments and he's frozen with a sort of amused horror in his seat. The Internet is disgusting. The Internet is a fucking cesspool, isn't it. It's terrible. 

He closes the window and goes to Twitter. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Might as well really twist the knife. 

The first tweet Aimee typed for him has ten thousand retweets and nearly as many replies. Nick scrolls, quickly, his stomach tense. _AIDS baby, slut, paedophile, liar, ugly, ew, HAHA FUCK NO, larry_. That's the gist of it. A lot of nice stuff, too, congratulatory messages and happy emojis, but. Wow. One girl's attached a photo of a sickly looking baby, all skin and bones, and said _grimmy's baby lol #aids._

Nick stares at the picture for a minute, and stabs the close tab button, picks up his phone.

"Daisy?" he says, clutching at the edge of the table. "Do you want to have tea?" 

He goes over to hers, and it all spills out over P.G. Tips and freshly-baked gluten-free double-chocolate cookies. The tweets and the comments and the article, and before he can stop himself he's sniffling into the sleeve of his jumper. 

"I don't think I can do this," he says, voice wobbly. Daisy's stroking his shoulder, her face very serious. "I - I can't." 

"Oh, babe." 

"I just, like, you know I don't - I don't care if people write about me, or - tweet that shite, I don't-" 

He breaks off, breathing out hard. 

"I'm not bothered," he says firmly. "I'm not." 

Daisy hums, kindly. Obviously Nick's fucking bothered. He wouldn't be crying into his bloody tea if he weren't bothered.

"It's just, like, fucking hell, Daisy, this is already - hard, like, and no one even knows it's Harry and people are still saying all this shit. I know how this works. I'm not fucking naive, but just, like. Bloody fucking hell. They're ruthless." 

"I know," Daisy murmurs. 

"The stupid thing is, Harry's so good at this," Nick says, with an embarrassingly whimpery laugh. He swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Like he's so good at just - not giving a shit. Ignoring it all." 

Daisy puts an arm around him, her head on his shoulder. 

"Miss him a bit," Nick says, weakly. "Like. I've always gotten shit for being his friend, but at least I used to actually get to be his fucking friend." 

"I know," Daisy says softly. "It's not fair." 

Nick sniffles into her hair for a minute. 

"Alright," he says, letting out a weak laugh. "Less whinging, more eating." 

"That's what I like to hear," she says happily, kissing his temple. "You've _got_ to try these brownies I made yesterday. Agave and courgette, and you can't taste it at all-" 

Nick tries a smile. "I'm ready. Lay 'em on me, Lowe."

\---

That night he dreams he's at the bottom of a long staircase, a bundle of blankets in his arms. He climbs for ages, shivering against the cold, til his legs ache and his eyes are gritty. 

There's a door at the top of the staircase, and Nick reaches one hand up and knocks, weakly. 

It opens straightaway, and a butler lets Nick inside. Nick's face is burning with shame for some reason. He clutches the blankets closer to his chest. 

"Mr. Styles will see you now," the butler says, icily, escorting Nick into a lavish room. There's a fire burning in the grate and a crystal chandelier overhead. Harry has his back to Nick, sitting in an ornate chair, hair loose down his back. 

Nick's terrified. His heart's pounding. There's other people in the room, lurking around the edges, faces indistinct, but Nick can't turn his head to look. 

"Mr. Styles," the butler says, when Nick doesn't speak. "He's here." 

Harry turns around, and - oh. _Oh_. His face is his own, except - sharper, colder, his eyes not their familiar green but a swirling grey, deep in the pupils. 

"Let me see it," he says to Nick, and Nick puts the blankets into Harry's arms, cranes over him to watch as Harry slowly unwraps them. 

He folds back the final layer, and Nick has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. 

It's a baby. Was a baby, maybe. Its small face is sunken and white and it has strangely long arms, skin waxy and stretched over bone and abnormally thin. As Nick watches, it coughs weakly, a pathetic sound. 

Nick's stomach is churning with guilt. He watches the thing lie there in Harry's arms, pathetic and unmoving, tiny fists balled up and eyes closed.

"Please," Nick says. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll fix it." 

"It's not worth saving," Harry says. His voice sounds lower, harsh like a growl. Nick doesn't look at his face because he doesn't know what he'll see. 

"No, it is, please, I swear, I promise, I'll take it-" Nick babbles, reaching out for the baby, and Harry stands up, smoothly, and tosses the bundle of blankets into the fireplace. 

The fire rushes up, flares excitedly, red and gold, consuming the offering. Nick stares at it.

"Your turn, Grim," Harry says, coldly, and Nick takes a step toward the fire, his body suddenly so heavy and weak he can't do anything but. He's feeling the heat of the flames on his face, the shadow of Harry behind him, when something slams with a thud and he jerks to attention, jerks upright out of sleep, his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

He sits up, puts his hand over his heart, staring at the darkened room around him. 

Pig whines softly in her sleep, curled at the foot of the bed, and Nick slips his hand down from his chest to his belly, shapes his palm over the curve of it, pulse still racing. 

Fucking hell. 

He shivers all the way down his back, lies back down on his side, tugging the duvet up to his neck. 

It won't get out of his head. Nick draws in a shaking breath, squeezes his eyes closed and snuggles as deep as he can under the blankets. Stupid. It's stupid. 

Still, it takes him ages to fall back asleep. He rubs his stomach back and forth like he's petting Pig, keeps his eyes shut, lets the movement lull him into drowsiness, but there's still this - ache, like, of it being _Nick_ who has to calm himself down after a nightmare, tell himself it's just a silly dream and he's perfectly alright. How tiring that gets, because Nick's shit at convincing himself of things. He needs someone else to remind him he's being an idiot. 

He could call someone, but he does that too much already. He doesn't mind whinging on to his mates about himself, never has, but it's just- it's got to get boring at some point. It's probably gotten old. 

\---

Monday morning, the whole thing goes official. 

"And the weather-" Tina says, at seven. "Cloudy in London in the morning, brightening up by mid-afternoon with a pleasant evening in the low-20s. Scattered showers up north as far as Edinburgh." 

Nick's just pulling the mic towards his face to take over when she says, "And Newsbeat would like to extend a _special_ congratulations to our own Nick Grimshaw, who announced on Twitter on Friday that he is expecting his first child early next year. Congratulations, Nick, and back to you." 

Nick gawps like a fish for a second, until Fiona gestures wildly at him and he says, automatically, "Thank you, Tina." 

"You're welcome, Nick."  

"Thanks," he repeats stupidly. "Uhh. Well. Thanks! Yeah, that's a thing. Weird, innit? Baby Grimshaw, coming soon. Expect I’ll be whining about my swollen ankles on air for the next five months, so get ready for that exclusive content. Aaanyway, that was the news, it's four minutes past seven, here's some Disclosure." 

He hits Play, lets out a long breath. Matt's grinning at him from across the desk. 

"Well?" he asks. 

"Could've bloody told me," Nick says, throwing a pencil at him. "I sounded mental." 

"It was either that or a Showquizness question," Matt says, laughing. "Which celebrity recently announced their pregnancy via Twitter? Khloe Kardashian, Miley Cyrus, Nick Grimshaw-"

"I'm not a celebrity," Nick scoffs, and Matt rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. 

"Shut up, yes you are," Fiona chimes in. 

"M'not!" Nick protests.

Matt throws the pencil back at him and says, "I don't care how famous you are, go fetch me tomorrow's schedule off the printer."

Nick trudges down the hallway to the printer, listening as Matt seamlessly segues Disclosure into Adele and saying thank-you to every random person who pops out of the woodwork to wish him congratulations. Yasmin hugs him so hard he nearly falls over. 

When he comes back, Fiona's got her eyes glued to the computer screen and she's saying to Matt, "Ooh, it's a list of everyone who tweeted congratulations to Nick over the weekend. Oh my god, Kim Kardashian!" 

"What the hell are you looking at?" Nick asks, bending over her chair. "Did you _google my name_?" 

"Yeah," Fiona says shamelessly. "We've got to keep up on the Grimshaw news, don't we Matt?" 

"I didn't condone this," Matt says, shuffling through papers and not paying them any attention. 

One of the tabs Fiona's got open is the Daily Mail article about Harry being the dad, and Nick's stomach clenches. He slides into his seat, as the song fades out, and says into mic, "Fiona's googling my name right now. Obsessed with me, she is." 

"Fi, stop googling Nick," Matt says patiently. 

"I'll google Zac Efron instead, how's that?" 

"Not as handsome or rugged, but sure, go for it," Nick says, laughing, and Matt sighs loudly. 

"How about we stop Googling people entirely and get to the waking up song?" 

"Alright, Finchy, calm your horses," Nick laughs. "Calm your- is that an expression? Hold your horses. Why'd I think it was calm my horses? It's _Monday_ , I'm tired, I'm confused. Anyway. Let's do ittt!" 

He hits the music, snorting at Matt's long-suffering expression, and says into mic, "Alright, everyone, it's a Monday morning and you may need some waking up, so text 8 double 1 double 9 and let's get you pumped up for the day-" 

\---

Aimee leaves for New York that Thursday, and that same night Ian shows up at Nick's flat like a lost puppy, as he often tends to do when Aimee's not there to boss him around. 

"Hiya!" Nick calls from the sofa when he hears the door unlock. Daisy's half-asleep curled up in a chair, but she wakes up and yells a hello. "Come in here, bring food!" 

"I'll get plates," Ian says, popping his head into the living room. "Hey, Daisy, you alright?" 

"Hi babe," Daisy says sleepily, and Nick hears the clink of plates from the kitchen. He's sitting on the sofa looking at baby clothes online, which is, like. A totally cool Thursday night activity. He and Daisy just finished watching Juno for approximately the dozenth time since Nick bought the DVD in Tesco on a whim two weeks ago, and the coffee table's littered with tissues from where Nick had been sniffling steadily at the ending. That cute American lesbian crying in the hospital bed and Jennifer Garner meeting her newborn baby, all alone and scared, fucking hell, it gets Nick every fucking time. "Her _face!"_ Daisy had cried, wiping her nose, and Nick had nodded pitifully, pulled her in for a cuddle. 

"Nick, you fancy General Tso's or beef and broccoli?" Ian calls. 

"Chicken, please!" 

Ian comes out two minutes later, hands Daisy her standard order of honey-ginger tofu and Nick his General Tso's, like a proper waiter. Nick doesn't have to move a muscle.

"Cheers, baby," Nick says, blowing him a kiss as Ian disappears back into the kitchen to sort his own dinner. 

"Yeah, thanks, Ian," Daisy says, forking a piece of tofu into her mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah," Ian says, flushing, collapsing onto the sofa next to Nick with a bowl of beef and broccoli. "I'm just your servant, aren't I." 

"My assistant, more like-" 

"Shut it. Give you a dead arm in a minute." 

Nick snorts, and pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, licks his fingers.

\---

Ian hangs around through dinner and a marathon of Bakeoff and Daisy's departure. He sits on the sofa watching telly and drinking tea while Nick putters around the kitchen cleaning up, and finally Nick pokes his head in and says, "Uhh, I'm off to bed. Some of us have got an early start tomorrow. Can't all bloody waltz in at 8:30, can we?" 

"Oh," Ian says. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll just-" 

He gestures vaguely, looking a little desperate. "Get out of your hair, I guess."

Nick sighs. 

"Do you want to stay over, Ian?" 

"Yeah," Ian says, before Nick's even got the words out. "Yes, I do. Please. But like in a lads way." 

Nick cracks up. "Jesus, Aimee never told me you were so needy." 

"Good, she's protected my dignity," Ian says primly, as he stands up. 

"I'm just gonna be in bed," Nick says, and Ian nods, not making any move to follow him there. Nick's not sure what sort of mental process Ian has to go through before he shares a bed with him, but Nick'll leave him to it. 

He gets his pyjamas on, gets into bed, tucks his knees up and flicks through Instagram for a while. Aimee's at some gallery in New York, and Henry's in Tokyo for a show. Nothing from Harry, of course.  He's just about to turn the lamp off when Ian comes in, toeing off his shoes, yawning. 

"You don't mind if I, like," he says, waving at the bed, trailing off.

Nick snorts. "Of course not, my little gateau. Ooh wait, was that not laddy?" 

Ian pulls a face at him. 

"You, uh, want anything? Tea, water, whatever-" 

Nick shrugs. If he's _offering_. "Might fancy some water." 

Ian nods, and pads out of the room. 

Nick sends a quick text off to Aimee - _sleepover with ian lolz x_ and then puts his phone down, looks up as Ian comes back in with two glasses of water. 

"There you are." 

"Cheers," Nick murmurs, gulping some of it down, and he slides down into bed. 

Ian does the same, after he turns the light out. 

They lie there in the dark for a minute. Nick's eyes are heavy, and the blankets are very warm, and secretly he sneaks a hand under his t-shirt to touch his stomach. Just to, like, say good-night to the sprout. He's allowed.

"Nick," Ian says, and Nick hums, stirring.

"Yeah," he says, tugging the duvet up to his neck. 

"Good night." 

Nick breathes out a sleepy laugh. "Night, Ian." 

Ian shifts around in bed for a minute, and then goes still. 

Nick's about to drift off when a phone buzzes, on the bed between them, and he frowns, reaches out to grab it. There's a text from Aimee, and he swipes the phone open, tries to enter his passcode. Doesn't work. 

Wait, this is Ian's phone. Whoops. Got the background photo of Thurston and everything. 

He clicks the center button out of reflex and the text shows up again on Ian's lockscreen.

_Aimee: Don't leave before he wakes up, okay?_

Nick stares at it, blearily, and then his eyes narrow and he sits up on his elbows. He holds his breath as he enters Ian's passcode - or at least it was his passcode last week when Nick needed to use his phone for a feature on air, and he knows Ian doesn't change it that often, so.

It works. He checks to see that Ian's properly asleep before he clicks on Messages, scrolls up through the conversation. 

 _How's he doing?_ Aimee sent three hours ago, and Nick bites his lip, rolls over in bed away from Ian so Ian won't wake up from the light. Those fucking gossips.

 _fine i think_ , Ian responded. 

_brought dinner over watched telly with Daisy_

_he seems alright maybe tired like he'd been crying a bit_

Nick doesn't know what his chest is doing. It's all clenchy. He exhales shakily and scrolls down with his thumb.

 _Stay over with him if daisy doesn't_ , Aimee sent back. 

_ok will do. don't worry he really does seem fine. think they were just crying at a film haha_

And then, ten minutes ago, Ian wrote - _im staying over,_ _in bed now (lads?) dont worry about him love you good luck with the jetlag xxxx_

The last text from Aimee is the one Nick saw already, that woke him up. 

_Don't leave before he wakes up, okay?_

Nick wipes at his eyes because they've gone watery, and startles when the phone buzzes again, in his palm. 

 _Love you babe gnight_ , Aimee's written, with three blue heart emojis. 

Nick puts the phone down on the bed again, flicks it to silent. Ian's sleeping, his breath slow and even, a pillow clutched up against his chest and his mouth open. 

Nick lies his head down, his nose stuffed and eyes still wet, his chest aching. Part of him wants to wake Ian up, get him the fuck out of his bed, because Nick's not a bleeding mental patient and he doesn't need watching. He doesn't need his stupid married friends taking care of poor fucking lonely knocked-up Nicholas. He doesn't _need it_. 

The other part of him feels - 

He lets out a wobbly breath and shuffles closer to Ian til he can feel his warmth, his slight weight dipping the bed. Ian doesn't stir. Nick sniffs in again, hard, shuts his eyes and lets Ian's steady breathing lull him to sleep. 

\---

Ian gets into the studio at 8:45 the next day, looking tired and wearing one of Nick's t-shirts and the same jeans from the day before. He ruffles Nick's quiff, steals a pen out of Fiona's hand, takes a sip of Matt's tea- all normal stuff. 

It's a good half hour before Nick's got a minute to breathe, and he's halfway through a cup of green tea when Ian sits down next to him. 

"Did you read my texts last night?" he says, flat-out. "From Aimee?" 

Nick takes a slow sip of tea, looking at him. 

"I dunno, Ian," he says. "Did you make a secret plan with her to watch me?" 

Ian goes very red. 

"That makes it sound pretty sinister," he says, eyes flicking away from Nick. "Wasn't like that-" 

"I don't need you to, like, make sure I'm not gonna bloody off myself or summat," Nick says roughly, looking down into his tea. "I'm fine." 

"She's your best mate, she worries about you." 

"Well she doesn't have to," Nick mutters, feeling ungrateful. His throat's going hot again. 

Ian doesn't say anything for a minute. 

"You know it's like, really scary, what you're doing," Ian says, voice low. "And hard, like it's bloody hard to have a kid." 

"You should be a therapist, Ian. Very soothing. Wow." 

"What I'm saying is, like, it's alright to need your friends," Ian says. Newsbeat's almost over and Nick has to be on in a minute and there's a lump in his throat that'll need to be cleared out before he talks into mic. "It's alright to need a bit of taking care of." 

Nick coughs into his elbow, hard. 

"Yeah," he says to Ian, so Ian will stop looking at him, and then he wheels up to his desk and grins, pulls the mic towards him. "Thank you, Chris Smith! _Killing_ the news today!" 

"You're welcome, Grimmy." 

"Listen to that weather, ey, Fincham? We've got to enjoy that today. Get outside. Breathe in the sunshine. Or-" 

"Breathe in the sunshine," Matt says, cracking up. 

"The fresh air, whatever, take in the sunshine, same difference," Nick says, laughing. "The point is, it's nice out, and I plan to fully take advantage. At least until I want a nap and Pig starts to annoy me. Gettin' all muddy and that. Barking at squirrels. _Such_ a pain." 

Fiona rolls her eyes at him, and Nick pulls a face. 

"Enough about Pig and her muddy muddy ways, here's a new tune off Rihanna, I _love_ this one, this is Should've Left." 

\---

"Of course," Nick says, as he pulls up in front of Pixie's flat at half past three to pick her up. "Of course everyone'll show up to the nice comfy afternoon appointment where I find out if it's a boy or a girl but _no one_ could make the 8:00 AM last week with the urologist…" 

Daisy giggles from the passenger seat. 

"No one wants to hear about your piss, Nicholas," Aimee says, and Collette adds, "Yeah, Grim, that's your business." 

"My bloody business!" Nick says indignantly. "Should kick all you harpies out of the car right now." 

"Ooh, there she is," Daisy says, peering out the window. Pixie clatters down the steps and yanks the car door open, breathing hard. 

"Hi babies!" she says. "Hi Nick!" 

Collette pats the seat and Pixie crawls in, wrapping her arms around Collette's waist and snuggling into her scarf. It's a bit of a mum-daughter dynamic they've got, which Nick secretly finds terribly sweet and a bit sad, but he'd never say it out loud. 

"How are ya, love," Collette says, petting Pixie's hair. 

"You alright, Pix?" Daisy calls from the front, turning up the radio.

"Hi Pepo," Nick says, as he flicks his turn signal on and pulls away from the curb. 

Pixie beams at all of them, then reaches forward to squeeze Nick's shoulder. "How's dad feeling?" 

"Oh, god, don't ask," Aimee says. "He'll go on another rant about his urinary tract." 

"Shut it, Aims." 

Pixie wrinkles her nose. 

"I'm so excited," she says. "I'm like _so_ excited. Have we got bets on this, girls?" 

"I'll put twenty quid on a girl," Aimee says gamely. Loves a bit of a gamble, Aimee does. 

"Can we not- this is my _child_ you're betting on," Nick says, not really offended. "Please show some respect." 

"I'll take it," Collette says, and Aimee shakes her hand very seriously.

\---

Aimee's right, of course. She's always right. 

His mates burst into cheers, and Dr. Sani looks tolerantly amused, blinking at Nick through her glasses. 

Nick stares at her, shell-shocked. 

"You're sure," he says. 

"It's not 100% conclusive, but it's a very, very strong estimate," she says. 

"A girl, Grim!" Collette squeals, wrapping her arms around Nick's shoulder. "Oh my god." 

"Think of the _clothes_ ," Pixie says dreamily. 

"She's going to be such a badass," Aimee says with relish. "Oh my god. I can't wait to teach her about eyeliner." 

"A girl," Nick repeats, faintly. "Bloody hell." 

His heart's doing a thing, all wobbly and swelling up in his chest. He just - he can't imagine. He can't. A _girl_. A little tiny fierce girl. Oh fucking Christ, Nick's so out of his league. She'll outgrow him in a minute. 

Daisy reaches over, and threads her fingers through his. 

"You're going to be the best dad," she says, sounding choked up. 

Nick squeezes her hand numbly. 

"Are you alright, Nick?" Dr. Sani asks, quietly, under the sound of Pixie and Aimee arguing over potential names. 

"Yeah," Nick breathes. "Yeah, I'm - yeah." 

"Bit in shock?" she says kindly. 

Nick exhales loudly. "Yeah." 

Collette squeezes him from the side. "You're happy, though, yeah, Grim?" 

Nick nods, slowly, and as he does it he realizes he is. 

\---

Everyone piles into his flat afterwards, and immediately starts depleting Nick's expansive liquor cabinet. 

"To not being pregnant!" Aimee yells an hour later, lifting her glass and accidentally slopping some vodka down the front of her shirt. 

"Amen!" Pixie laughs, and the rest of them drink up. 

Nick rolls his eyes, pointedly does not sip his green juice. "You're _terrible_ friends, all of you, you know that, right?" 

"We're happy _you're_ pregnant, babe," Aimee says comfortingly, patting Nick's thigh. She's starting to slur. "We're super happy. Right?"

"So happy!" Pixie yells. "Girl power!" 

Daisy's on his other side on the sofa, sleepy from wine and with a hand on Nick's belly. 

"We're so happy, babes," she says. "Can you believe it? Tiny Grimmy. A tiny Grimmy _girl_. Think of her little cheeks. Oh my god, and her little toes, her little teeny toes-" 

"Alright, calm down, Lowe."

Aimee sits straight up, takes a long sip of her drink. 

"You're gonna have a little tiny baby," she says, gravely. "Sucking on your little tiny tits." 

The rest of them burst into drunken laughter, and Nick shoves her with one hand. 

"Shut _up_ , Aimee." 

"You shut up!" she says back, and then immediately repents, kissing his cheek. "Just kidding. I love you. I love your little tiny tits." 

"I hate you," Nick says, just as the doorbell rings. "Oh thank god, that must be Ian." 

Daisy stumbles up from the sofa, swaying a little bit, and tiptoes down the hall to the door. 

"Hi babe!" Nick hears her say, and Ian says something inaudible, and then they're both poking their heads in. 

"Hiya, Ian," Nick says, waving at him, and Aimee screeches, "Oh my god. Oh my _god_. Look how cute he looks right now. Look at my fucking husband. Look how cute he is." 

Ian goes a brilliant red, shifting from foot to foot. It's sweet that he can still be embarrassed even after so many years with Aimee, who's completely mental. 

"Ian, you're so cute," Pixie sighs. 

Daisy giggles, pats Ian on the head. 

"Alright, enough," Ian says, obviously trying to sound serious, though his flushed face defeats the purpose. "Who am I driving home?" 

"Everyone, please," Nick says. "None of them are fit to drive. Especially not your beautiful wife." 

"How ya doin', Aims?" Ian says, and Aimee doesn't move from where she's resting her head on the back of the sofa. Her eyes are closed. 

"I'm great," she says thickly, sticking out a sideways thumbs-up. "Feel one hundred percent, babe." 

Nick laughs, and gets himself up off the sofa, starts collecting bottles and glasses for the wash. 

He's at the sink when Ian comes in with another armful of dirty dishes. 

"Hey," he says. 

"Hey." 

"Aimee told me, y'know, it's a girl. That's awesome." 

"Cheers, Ian," Nick says, giving him a sidelong smile, taking the empty glasses out of his hand. 

"You excited?" 

"I am _very_ excited," Nick says, measuredly. "But also tired. And also terrified." 

It's a bit more honest than he meant to be. Ian looks at him wide-eyed for a second, and then looks down, grabs a dishtowel to dry the glasses Nick's rinsing. 

"Yeah," he says. "I bet." 

"It's alright, anyway," Nick says brightly. 

"If you need anything, you know where we-" 

"Yeah, no, I know." Nick smiles at him, tightly. "I'm fine. You should be more worried about Aimee, I'm pretty sure she hasn't been this pissed in, like, six months." 

"Worse than that polo match after Fashion Week last year when she sicked up cucumber sandwiches on your lap in the cab?" Ian asks, wide-eyed, and then he laughs. "What a sentence that was. What a _day_ that was." 

Nick snorts. "Nearly that bad. Go save her, Ian. Be a hero." 

"I mean, I always am." Ian pats his back, and ducks out of the kitchen. 

\---

Nick gets dragged out of his flat for a gallery opening in the last week of October. Pixie's adamant, which isn't usually the case, but when it is, Nick can truly see what a spoiled brat she must have been as a child. 

"Nick!" she calls, as Nick's rifling wearily through his clothes, trying to find something that won't make him look like a whale. "Nick, come _on_!" 

"I'm getting dressed!" he yells back. 

"Just put that new Vuitton jumper on! The grey one!" 

Nick stares at the jumper in question, and then sighs heavily, strips off his shirt, and shoves it over his head. It is quite cozy - a lightweight pearl grey cashmere with a V-neck and not-too-tight arms. 

The problem is just- Nick looks down at his belly. 

It's just so, like, _right there_. And visible. The shirt's too tight, stretches across the flesh, and Nick just- 

"Nick," Pixie says, popping her head in. "Get your arse in the car. You look fantastic. Hurry the fuck up." 

Nick tugs the shirt down, restlessly. 

"Don't fucking stretch that!" Pixie yelps. "That's cashmere, are you mad? Now c'mon, get your jacket on, we're going." 

Nick pouts, and follows her out the door. 

The gallery's packed, and twenty minutes in Nick's already had about a dozen hands on his stomach and he's contemplating murder. It shouldn't bother him - never minded being touched before, did he, quite easy for it - but tonight he just feels. Raw, or summat. Nervous. 

"Are you excited?" some friend of Henry's says, cooing at Nick.  His cheeks are pink from champagne. "Oh my god, I'd be so scared. I mean, I totally want to someday. But, like, you're way brave doing it by yourself. Can I ask, like, you know-"

He leans in, drops his voice to whisper. "Like, what sperm bank did you use?" 

"I - what-" Nick stammers, and Pixie grabs Nick smoothly by the arm.

"Sober up, Rex, you're not twenty-three anymore, it’s really not cute," she says icily to the man, before she whisks Nick away with a hand on his back. 

"Idiot," she whispers into Nick's ear. "Ignore him." 

"No, he seems lovely," Nick says dryly.

Pixie giggles. "I need another drink. Fancy anything?" 

"I'm fine," Nick says, distractedly, because he's just seen a familiar head of long silver hair by a painting in the corner. Lou Teasdale. Nick hasn't seen her in about a year, and the sight is making his throat clench with nerves. "Cheers, though." 

Pixie kisses his cheek and slips away through the crowd. 

Nick makes his way to Lou. Of course he does. 

"Miss Teasdale," he says, in a low voice next to her ear, and she yelps and nearly slops her champagne everywhere. 

"Grimmy!" she says, smacking his arm. "You bloody scared me." 

Nick laughs, accepts her hug. She smells of floral perfume but she's wearing all black and what looks suspiciously like a spiked bracelet on one wrist. Classic Teasdale. 

"It's been forever since I've seen you, babe," she says, kissing his cheek. "Oh my - god, I haven't even - look at you!" 

Nick holds his arms out. 

"Should I twirl?" he says, laughing. "I feel like I should twirl."

"You're really starting to show," Lou says, an eyebrow raising. "Oh my god. Are you terrified?" 

"Nahh, I feel totally prepared and calm," Nick says, deadpan, and she snorts at him. 

"Oh, I'm sure. How's it been? How far along are you exactly?" 

"Uh, six months. And a week."

"Due date?" 

"February 13." 

"Ooh, maybe it'll come on Valentine's Day," she says. "Wouldn't that be cute." 

"Yeah, I'd love to spend my Valentine's Day in labor," he says. "So romantic!" 

Lou huffs out a laugh, takes a sip of her drink.

"How've you been?" she says. "Suppose you're done with the nausea by now, aren't you, that's good. Oh, you know what - there's this tea that I _swore_ by when I was pregnant with Astrid. Like. Seriously saved my life. My heartburn was terrible. Felt like my chest was on fire, and if I just had a cup before bed it _really_ helped." 

"What's it called?" 

"Shit," Lou says, chewing her lip. "I can't remember. It's some herbal crap. I'll figure it out, I'll email you. You've got to try it. Harry was the one who bought it for me, actually." 

Nick's heart gives a frightened little wobble. He keeps his face perfectly steady.

She laughs. "God knows where he found it." 

Nick laughs too. "But of course he did." 

"Of course." 

"Well, if you remember. Let me know." 

"I will, I will." 

She looks past his shoulder like she wants to move away, and he can't help himself, he _can't_. 

"So how is Mr. Styles?" he says before she can leave, so casual it feels brittle in his mouth. "I mean, I know he's fully unplugged, but I'm sure you've talked to him. _He talks to Lou about everyfing."_ He imitates Sam's chirpy accent, and Lou laughs, eyes crinkling. 

"Oh," she says, sipping her drink. "He's good, you know. He’s really good." 

So she has talked to him. Nick absorbs that information without a flinch, but his stomach clenches hard.

"Good," he says. "That's good. Relaxing?" 

"Completely." She looks fond. "I think it's been really good for him. Like, just, you know, to get away from all of it. Not having anyone asking him for things. No one watching him. You know. It all just went so pear-shaped at the end, y'know." 

"Yeah," Nick says, voice strained. "That's great. That he can get away, I mean." 

"How've you been?" Lou asks, voice going quiet. "I know you and him, uh. You know. Maybe left some strings hanging-" 

"I'm fine!" Nick says brightly. It sounds fake, and he has to fight down a blush. "We’re fine. Honestly. Course it's weird that he's gone, but then he's always gone, isn't he? I'm used to it. We're all - we're all good." 

He feels a little bit like he's going to cry. How awful. He swallows hard. Fuck, he wishes he could have a vodka right now. 

"Good," Lou says gently. She pats his shoulder. 

"Yeah," Nick says. "Yeah. Good to see you, I'm gonna just, uh, I think I see Pixie." 

"Alright-" 

"Yeah. Have a lovely night, Louise." Nick ducks past her, and instead of turning right to get to Pixie, he goes left towards the toilets. 

He shuts and locks a stall, closes the toilet seat, sits down. His hands are trembling. 

 _Not having anyone ask him for things_. 

Nick puts his face in his hands. Oh, fucking God. This is really happening. He's really doing this, not telling Harry. He's really going to do this by himself.

He lets out a long shaking breath, and lifts his head. 

What did he expect, honestly? Did he expect Lou to guess? Did he expect Lou to say _oh, he's so unhappy, he's just hoping he knocked someone up. He's just dying to come back to England for a lifelong commitment with some bloke ten years older than him. He can't stand being on a tropical island_ - 

Nick stands up, steels himself. 

This is what he picked. This is how it works, now. And in the long run it's better for them both, isn't it. 

\---

_Despite the swirling rumors surrounding the identity of the father of Grimmy's child, Nick declines to discuss the issue and laughs when I remind him that avoiding it may well just spur the rumors on to greater and greater heights._

_"Honestly, it's funny to me that people are so concerned," says Grimshaw. "I think people want to think it's terribly dramatic and awful, but, really, it's just one of those things that happens, innit?"_

_He hastens to explain, at my raised eyebrow._

_"Just because I'm in the public eye doesn't mean I have to yap on about everything in my personal life," he says. "But to whoever's worried about me: cheers, that's very nice, and I'm fine, and it's not as scandalous as you're imagining."_

_I ask him if he'd be open to share his experience with a sperm bank, if he's visited one, and his face darkens for a split-second before it smoothes out into his trademark sunny smirk._

_"That's not a thing that I did," he says. "More power to you, go for it, if it's what you want, but it's not something I did. That's never been something I wanted."_

_Sperm bank or no, Grimshaw's well on his way to fatherhood, and the realization is coming in bits and pieces._

_"One day I'll be having a lie-in and eating crisps and doing nothing, not thinking about it, and then the next I'm like, 'Oh god, I need a green juice or the baby's going to be sickly'," he laughs. "My friends are constantly telling me to calm down. I do get quite concerned about it, I think anyone who's going through this does. There's always been a perception that I don't take good care of myself, and that's not really true at all. Yes, I've enjoyed a cocktail in my life, but even before I got pregnant I exercised, I drank juices and ate spinach. It's a priority for me."_

_Speaking of his health - how long does Grimmy think he'll be able to manage the early mornings? A 5:30 wake-up has got to take its toll, even on the hardiest of presenters._

_"I wake up earlier than ever, actually," says Grimshaw. "And now I just go to sleep at eight. Or nap for four hours in the afternoon. Really, it's just a natural transition into being an old person. They'll have to drag me out of the studio if they want me off air."_

_Seven million listeners around the country are relieved by that news. Grimshaw's figures have gone up yet again last quarter, and the news of his pregnancy doesn't seem to have knocked off the fickle youth demographic quite yet._

\-- _The Guardian_ , 4.11.17, "Nick Grimshaw opens up about his pregnancy: 'It's Not As Scandalous As You're Imagining'"

\---

"So tell me, tell me, Nick, how far are you along?" 

"Right into it, then?" Nick says, laughing. "No talk of the movie? You're in a movie, I hear, coming out next weekend-" 

"Movie shmovie, I want to hear about you," Jared says, leaning forward and grinning at Nick. "How are you feeling? How are your ankles? That's a thing, right? My wife was always complaining about her ankles." 

"I'm not allowed to talk about my ankles, producer's rules," Nick says, snorting. "Fincham's barred me from the topic. Apparently it's not relevant to the youth of Great Britain." 

"So how far are you, then?" 

Nick laughs at Matt, who's still rolling his eyes. "Yes alright, alright. I'm nearly seven months now." 

"When's he due? He? She?" 

"She," Nick says. "She's due in February." 

"Oh my _god,_ that's so soon. Wow. How fantastic, congratulations, Nick. Who's the lucky baby-daddy? Or do we not- oh, are we not talking about him, was that, like, really rude of me?" 

"We don't talk about him," Nick says, laughing. It feels brittle but it sounds natural. "I'll show you the voodoo doll later." 

"Nick," Matt warns.

"I'm _joking_ , Finchy. But yeah, no, we- nope." 

"Ahh, I see, I see. No. My bad. Well, he's missing out. You look incredible. Doesn't he look incredible, Fiona?"

Fiona hums doubtfully into the mic. 

"Don't encourage him," Matt says. 

"No, please, go on," Nick snorts. 

"You do, you're totally glowing. You look so healthy. I'm contemplating leaving my wife for you. We can raise that child together."  

Nick tips his head back and laughs. "Thank you for the pity, Jared Leto, it's extremely kind. I can't see my feet, but Jared Leto wants to run away with me, it's a win for me, I think. Shall we talk about your movie now?" 

\---

After the interview, Jared kisses him on the cheek, cups Nick's face in both hands. 

"Meant what I said. Well, not the running away part."

Nick laughs, patting Jared's hands. 

"You really do look fantastic. Good luck with everything. Name her Jared. Jareda. Jaria?" 

"Strong suggestions," Nick says, as Jared kisses his other cheek. "God, you're so charming, you're the worst. Get out of here. Go on." 

"I want to see a photo when she's born! But like after she's cleaned up and stuff!" Jared calls behind him as he leaves, flanked by his producers. "Jared's a good middle name, too!" 

Nick rolls his eyes, and sinks back down into his chair. 

"Jared Leto just suggested I name my child Jareda," he says into mic as an Ed Sheeran song fades out. "I mean, it does have quite a ring to it, doesn't it." 

"Jareda," Fiona laughs. "What about Jaretta? With two T's?" 

"Jarina," Matt suggests. 

"Jared-ette," Nick says, grinning. "Gorgeous. A name fit for a princess. Let's get on with the news, shall we, now that Jared Leto's vacated the premises? Now that we've all survived the charm offensive?" 

"Yes, let's," Matt says, reaching over for the button and looking at Nick expectantly.

"Well then, here's Chris Smith." 

\---

His seven month appointment comes on the heels of a long fucking week. Work's been mental, and some exposé came out in the Mirror on Thursday that detailed every single bloke in Nick's life who could potentially be the dad of his kid. The list starts with Henry and Fincham, which is hilarious, but it also includes Harry, every bloke in Clean Bandit, Douglas Booth, Jared Leto, and even Michael. An _actual_ ex. Michael texts him after, a few skull emojis and - _should we take this to jerry springer??? hope you're well grim xx_

Nick reads through the article again in the waiting room, peering down at his phone. It's so fucking - _stupid_. He knows it's stupid, but he can't keep from feeling angry. 

The Harry bit is - well. 

_Pop heartthrob Harry Styles is an obvious guess! The 23 year old's been hiding away on a private island since June, and some sources have said that the popstar's move was due to Grimmy's little bundle of joy. Could Styles be the deadbeat dad of Grimmy's mystery baby?_

Jesus fucking Christ. Bullshit, all of it. Nick sniffs in hard, shoves his phone away when the nurse calls his name. 

\---

"This all looks great, Nick," Dr. Sani says, checking something off on her clipboard. "You're doing really well. Heartrate's normal. Still exercising at least three times a week?" 

Nick nods, kicking his feet against the side of the weird metal hospital bed thingy. The paper crinkles under his bum. 

"Any health concerns you've had lately? Anything feel out of the ordinary?" Dr. Sani asks, sliding into her seat at the computer, tapping something Nick can't see. 

"No," Nick says, forcing a smile. "All good." 

She nods, tapping her pen against her bottom lip. "Great." 

Nick's throat hurts. He swallows, crosses an arm over his chest. 

"Can I put my clothes on?" he asks. "My arse is cold." 

Dr. Sani laughs. "Of course. I'll knock in a minute." 

She shuts the door behind her, and Nick shrugs the gown off his shoulders, the air chill on his belly and chest. He's having a day when he can't look at it, at himself. His throat keeps going tight like he's going to cry, and he doesn't know why, and - like, why do they have to be so shit about Harry? And - and Douglas bloody _Booth_ , for God's sake, and fucking _Michael_? Like Nick's some dumb fucking slag, shagging around, five blokes in a weekend and not a condom to be found-

 _Least I'm getting laid_ , _in tabloid land,_ he thinks sourly, as he pulls his shirt on. 

Oh, god, he's so lonely. Fucking god. He huffs out a hard breath, reaching for his pants, shaking the feeling off. 

He's barely got his trousers up when Dr. Sani knocks. 

"Yeah, come in," he says, sinking into the chair next to her desk. 

"Alright, Nick," she says, sitting down. "Let's have a chat." 

They do this every two weeks, and yet Nick feels nervous today, jumpy.

"I'm all good," he says. "It's all - same as last time." 

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Sani asks, gently. "This can be an emotionally volatile time of a pregnancy." 

"No- volatile emotions," Nick lies. "Steady. Reliable. All… boring, really. Chugging along. Y'know." 

Dr. Sani blinks at him, mildly. 

"Alright," she says. "No mood swings? It's perfectly normal, you know. Your hormones are incredibly confused, right now. A lot's happening, and-" 

"No mood swings!" Nick says brightly, and then, awfully, he nearly sobs. He gulps in hard. 

"Nick," Dr. Sani says, softly. "It's alright." 

Nick blinks, eyes hot. 

"It's fine," he says, voice wobbly. "I'm fine. Sorry." 

"Have you been feeling stressed, at all?" Dr. Sani asks. "Anxious? That's very common around seven months, a sense of worry about the future-" 

Nick's face is crumpling. He can't hold it off. 

"No," he chokes out.  

"Nick." 

Nick sobs properly, slaps a hand over his face. 

Dr. Sani pushes the Kleenex towards him, her face as soft as he's ever seen it.

"It's alright," she says again. 

Nick grabs a tissue, trying to breathe, to stop it from happening. The crying can happen later, at home, not in front of his bloody doctor. 

It _can't_ , though. It can't happen later. He can't even control how he bloody feels anymore. 

He gasps against the tissue, scrubs at his nose. 

"Shit," he mutters. "Sorry. I swear I'm fine-" 

"Do you- do you feel comfortable sharing what you're feeling anxious about?" Dr. Sani says, calmly. "Maybe I can help. If it's anything to do with labor, or delivery-" 

Well, it wasn't, but it is now, _thanks_. Nick shakes his head. 

"It's very normal to feel this way, Nick." 

"Doesn't make it better," Nick mumbles. 

Dr. Sani huffs a laugh. "Fair point." 

Nick sits up in his seat, grabbing another tissue. 

"How many of- of your patients, like, don't have - you know, um, partners, or whatever," he asks, haltingly.

Dr. Sani's eyebrows raise for a split second. 

"Like- god. Never mind. Never mind."  

"Is that where your anxiety's stemming from lately?" she asks, quietly. "Not, uh, not being in a relationship with the father?" 

Nick blinks blearily at her, lets out a sigh. 

"I dunno how much you- I mean, honestly, you don't seem like you read Heat, or anything, like -  you're all proper and doctor-y and smart, you probably read medical articles to relax-" 

Dr. Sani's mouth quirks up. 

"- but - but, well, anyway. There's been a few things about this lately in the papers -" he motions at his stomach. "And - and people, just, like, caring about - about the dad, the other dad. And I suppose it's just- uh, gotten to me, I think." 

His voice dissolves into a whisper, because he feels like he'll sob again. He swallows hard. 

"Sorry. Honestly. It's just - god. People are shit." 

He rubs his hand over his face. 

"You have some unique stressors in your life right now," Dr. Sani says, gently. "That a lot of my patients don't have. The media attention is- it's stressful. I can see that. Have you- have you tried to avoid reading these kinds of things?" 

"Yeah," Nick says, weakly. "No, I don't usually, it's just, like. It's just - I dunno. I was already having a crap day, and this awful thing came out, yesterday, like it's just. It's just." 

He shakes his head, exhaling hard. 

"And then I think, well, okay, I'm not the first bloody - well-known person to get pregnant. Like I know that. But it seems like - like everyone else who's done it, they had someone to do it with, you know?" 

Dr. Sani's watching him, blank-faced. 

"God," Nick says, sitting up, scrubbing at his eyes with the tissue. "God. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to, like- go on and on. Honestly, I'm not as annoying as I sound." 

"It's good that you can talk about it, Nick," Dr. Sani says. "Honestly. I want you to feel like you can tell me anything you're worried about. All of this affects the health of your child." 

"Great, so, like, me being all weepy is gonna make her all weepy?" Nick says shakily. 

"No," Dr. Sani says calmly. "She'll be weepy because she's an infant." 

That startles a laugh out of Nick.

Dr. Sani smiles. "What I mean is, it's my job to make sure that you're as healthy and happy as possible, and that your child is delivered safely and is as healthy and happy as possible. So your concerns and worries about the future are relevant to me." 

Nick peers at her suspiciously. "I've never gone to therapy for a reason, y'know." 

Dr. Sani laughs. "I'm not a therapist, Nick." 

"Good. I talk too much already, anyway. The _nation_ 's my therapist."  

Dr. Sani shakes her head. In a fond way, though, Nick's pretty sure. 

"Should we get you scheduled for your next appointment?" she says, clearly done with sharing-and-caring time. 

"Yes, please, let's do that," Nick says, yanking out his phone.

When they're sorted, he stands up, awkwardly, and gives her a little wave. 

"Sorry for snotting all over your office," he says sheepishly. 

"It's alright, Nick." 

"Next time I'll be way more together. Y'know, honestly, I think it's that I barely had a proper meal today. I'm gonna go home and have a giant tea." 

"Alright," she says, standing up, and before Nick can vacate the premises with the remainder of his dignity, she's putting her arms around him, in a careful stiff sort of hug. 

He freezes, and then hugs back on instinct. 

When she pulls away, he blinks at her dumbly. 

"Do you, uh, is that like because I cried, or is it just a standard part of the seven-month appointment?" 

Dr. Sani is slightly pink in the cheeks. 

"Wait, have you got a _soft_ spot for me?" Nick asks, delighted. "Am I your favorite patient?" 

Dr. Sani very nearly rolls her eyes. Nick catches her. 

"See you in two weeks, Nick." 

"See you, Dr. Sani," Nick says happily. "Have fun with all your other more boring patients. Don't miss me too much."

She definitely rolls her eyes then, and Nick beams at her, before the door gets shut in his face. 

\---

“Pass the eggnog!” Nick yells into mic bright and early on December 1st. The first day of Christmas, of course. “This is the first Christmas I can eat as much as I want and no one can say a thing!” 

“Like you don’t always eat as much as you want,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes. 

“Scuse me, Fi. I’ve been on every diet known to mankind. I spent one Christmas in my twenties drinking only cranberry juice and vodka and refusing all offers of pie. Not this year, baby. Christmas starts now. I’m having turkey for breakfast. And pudding.” 

“You had cereal this morning,” Matt says dryly. “Push that boat out, Nick.” 

“For lunch, then. Turkey and pudding. And roasties. And… ice cream.” 

“Can we play a song, instead of discussing your diet, please, Nick?”

“People love it on the text, though. Sarah in Edinburgh says I should eat a six-pack of mince pies all in one go. What a good influence, Sarah in Edinburgh. Thank you for your support.” 

“You know, I heard that if you overeat something while you’re pregnant, the baby’ll hate that food,” Fiona says, raising her eyebrows. “You want Baby Grimshaw to hate mince pies?” 

“That’s - is that true? Is that real science? Oh my god, I should totally eat crap then. She’ll come out only wanting kale and vegetables and, like, soymilk. She’ll come out with _genetic self-control._ That’s a great plan, Fi. Bring on the McDonald’s.” 

"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant," Fiona says dryly. 

"I'll stop drinking green smoothies immediately, don't want to overdo it on those. Someone bring me a cheesecake!" 

Fiona laughs. 

“Nick-” Matt sighs.

“I know, I know, Finchy,” Nick says to Matt, laughing as he peers at the computer screen. “Oh my god, people on the text are so het up about your theory, Fiona, I'm obsessed. She's joking, everyone, calm down. I'm not giving up on vegetables just yet. Up next is Sam Smith, but for now, here’s some new stuff from Alex Clare.” 

\---

"Next year she'll be here," Pixie says, linking her arm through Nick's and staring at the freshly-lit tree, glowing in the late afternoon light. The lighting ceremony went off without a hitch, and now Nick's free to wander around and spend too much money on pressies. "Her first Christmas. Watching her dad light the tree."  

Nick puts his head on top of hers, sighing. "Don't be cheesy." 

"Oh my _god_ , I can't wait," Pixie says, a bit of a squeal in her voice. "I seriously can't. You're having a baby, Nick." 

"I'm aware," Nick laughs, turning away from the tree. Someone points a camera at them, and Pixie goes up on her toes to kiss Nick's cheek, putting her other hand on his stomach and grinning. Nick smiles wide, and turns away when the flash has gone off. "Ooh, Pix, do you want some hot chocolate? I could properly murder some hot chocolate right now." 

Pixie goes for mulled wine, the traitor. Nick takes a surreptitious sip, paranoid of anyone taking photos, and nearly groans as it slips down his throat. God, he misses booze. The hot choccy's nearly as good, though, all steamy and sweet and rich. It warms him to his toes, as he strolls through the Christmas market with Pixie on one arm, and in the middle of some truly ridiculous story she's telling about a manicure gone wrong, he thinks: huh. 

Won't be that bad, will it.

Having a little person to cart around and dress up and love dearly. Someone who grows up calling Nick dad, and crawls into his lap when she's sad, and loves him right back. 

And even if next year he's just as bloody single as he is now, he'll have Pixie to look after him, and the rest of them, and he'll have done it. 

For the first time, it feels actually alright, thinking about the future. He can bloody well _do this_. His dad said he couldn't move to London on his own, and he did. Everyone fucking said he couldn't get Breakfast, and he did. 

He squeezes Pixie's arm tightly, as some kind of emotion passes fierce through him like a storm, and she stops mid-sentence. 

"Alright?" she says, looking up at him. 

"Yeah, good," Nick says hoarsely. He takes a sip of his drink, steers them in the direction of a stand selling gorgeous glass ornaments. "Sorry, keep going, I'm listening. He did _what_ to your cuticles?" 

\---

He drives up north for Christmas on Saturday morning, bright and early. Everyone else he knows is still hungover from the night before - a work Christmas do to celebrate the start of holidays. It ended in Matt playing piano while Fiona drunk-rang her boyfriend and wept down the line, and Gemma Cairney vomiting in the gutter before rallying and taking three more shots. But of course, Nick's - well, as always, he's sober as a bloody judge. 

The backseat's crammed with his suitcase and pressies for the family, and Pig's snoozing in the passenger seat, covered in a lumpy scarf Daisy knitted for Nick which Pig immediately stole and made her own. 

Nick's tapping his fingers on the steering wheel nervously, because right before he left he made the questionable decision of texting Gemma to ask if Harry would be making it home for Christmas. 

Stupid, of course, to ask. There's not even a good reason to. If he is, Nick can't see him anyway, because Harry'll figure it all out. If he isn't, well, then. Everything'll stay the same. 

His phone pings when he's in the middle of switching lanes on the M40, and it's another fifteen minutes before he can check it without crashing the car.

 _No_ , Gemma's written, and Nick's heart does a strange little flop in his chest. _he's staying in paradise apparently... Shocking! I actually might fly down there for New Years so i'll give him your love. Happy xmas grimmy xx_

Nick puts the phone down, puts his hands back on the wheel, exhales loudly. 

"You and me then," he says, very quietly, and turns the radio on. 

\---

"Nick!" his mum calls, once he's pulled into the driveway, opening the front door a crack and waving. "You made it! Wait there, love, Liv'll help you with the bags." 

Olive comes out of the house looking sulky, her feet shoved into slippers and a housecoat on, but she brightens when she sees Nick. 

"Hi, love!" Nick says. "Carry all this shit for me, I'm an invalid."

"You are _huge_ ," she says, slipping down the front steps. "Holy shit." 

"Aww, cheers, you're so sweet," he says, rolling his eyes. "Here, this bag is all pressies." 

"For me?" 

"Every single one," he says, pulling a face at her, and she takes the bag, peers inside. 

"Take this too, please," he says, handing her his weekender. 

"How're you doing? How's, like, being knocked up?" 

"It's an absolute joy," Nick says dryly. "Loving every minute. Never want it to be over." 

"That bad, huh?" 

Nick kisses her cheek, and wraps a spare jacket around her neck to carry inside. "That bad. Here, I'll get Pig, meet you inside." 

Liv nods and totters up the steps, laden down with bags. 

Pig hates the cold. She barely manages to have a wee before she's whining at Nick's legs, pitifully, turning in circles. 

"Can't pick you up, love," Nick says. "I'm sorry."

She whines louder. Like a baby, she is. 

"Go on, let's go, up the stairs," he says, herding her as her nails scrabble on the steps, until they're at the front door and his mum holds it open from the inside. 

"Did you have to bring the dog?" is the first thing she says, which is sweet. 

"Mum, you said it was alright on the phone, and Emily's in Ibiza." 

"Oh god- Liv, don't let it track into the house!" his mum calls, sounding legitimately panicked. "Liv! Come get the dog!" 

"Okay, oh my god, calm down," Liv says, padding out of the sitting room with Pig at her heels. 

"Towel in the airing cupboard, wipe its feet off." 

" _Her_ feet off," Nick says, unzipping his jacket, tugging down his jumper over his belly. "She's not an it, mum." 

His mum waves him off and then goggles at him, when Nick tosses his coat aside. 

"Look at you!" she says. "You've gotten big, Nicholas!" 

Nick goes red, kicks off his boots, and immediately steps in socked-feet into a puddle of slush probably left by Pig. Eurgh. He lifts his foot, wincing.

"I know, he's like massive," Liv says, from where she's toweling off Pig's paws. She laughs evilly. "Are you sure you're not having twins?"

"This is so not the greeting I wanted," Nick says, letting his mum hug him from the side, ducking down so she can kiss his cheek. "And I am - god, over seven months gone, so don't act so surprised." 

"Everything's alright?" she says. "With the doctor and everything?" 

"Everything's all good, just like it was when we spoke on the phone on Wednesday, mum," Nick says, rolling his eyes. "God, what's a bloke got to do to get a cup of tea in this place?"

"I've put the kettle on," Eileen says, patting his shoulder. "Here, come in, love." 

"Where's Janie?" Nick asks, following his mum into the kitchen.

"She's at work." Eileen busies herself at the counter. "Sit down, Nick, let's have a chat." 

"I'm a bit exhausted, mum, I might fancy a nap."  

"From what?" she says suspiciously. "S'not like you were out last night, were you?" 

"From being bloody pregnant, it's allowed," he says eggily. "Where's that tea?" 

She clucks, sets it in front of him. "Don't get sharp with me, young man, I don't care if you're about to bloody pop." 

He laughs, and takes a gulp of his tea. Ooh, that's perfect. His mum makes it the best, always has. 

"Where's dad?" 

"Oh, he's out shopping." 

"Shopping!" Nick snorts. "Really? Pete Grimshaw doin' the big shop?" 

"He wanted to get some gifts without me there, I don't know. I hope it's summat nice," she says, sliding into a chair. 

"Nan's got you like a load of baby stuff," Liv says, wandering into the kitchen and feeling the kettle, then taking a mug out for herself. "Oh my god, so many onesies." 

"Shut it, Liv!" 

"Did you really, mum?" Nick groans. "You didn't have to." 

"Yeah, buy things for me instead, nan, I'm your _favorite_ grandchild, aren't I?" Liv says, kissing Eileen's cheek sweetly. Eileen bats her away. 

"I did so have to, it's Christmas," she says. "Anyway, Marwoods was having a sale." 

Nick snorts. 

"Wot?" his mum says indignantly. 

"Nothing, mum," he says, and Liv rolls her eyes.

"Nan, Nick's baby is gonna be all in, like, Calvin Klein and Burberry. Does Burberry have a children's line?"

"God, yes, it's to die for," Nick answers automatically. 

"Not bloody Marwoods. Sorry, Eileen." 

"I'll - don't listen to her, mum, I'll _totally_ use that stuff." 

"You won't want bleeding Barberry for when she's little, she'll just get sick on it!" Eileen says, outraged. "Cheap and durable, Nick, that's the way to go!" 

"I'm sorry, did you just say _Barberry_?" Liv asks, breaking into breathless laughter. 

"Oh- whatever, bloody Blueberry, whatever it's called." 

"Blueberry," Nick chokes out, as Liv falls off her chair laughing. "Oh my god, I'm tweeting that." 

\---

Christmas passes in a blur of food and pressies. Nick eats more than he thought possible, watches jealously as his family gets pissed off champagne and grows increasingly louder. Normally he'd be right in the thick of it. 

He's forced to take Pig for a walk on Christmas Day, because his dad's hungover and snappish and mutters something about Nick being irresponsible and immature and not an adult. Nick's not sure exactly what he says. All he knows is that he's got a stupid hot lump in his throat and the only way to hide it is to go outside. Fucking _dads_. They're the worst sometimes. Nick's old enough that it doesn't shake him the way it did when he was an overweight insecure teenager, but it's still shit. 

The air's crisp and cold, and Nick buries his free hand in his coat pocket, watching Pig sniff around at all the unexpected greenery. She's used to London streets and pissing on cement. 

He lets her off the lead at the edge of a flat, empty field, and she takes off. Nick yawns into his palm and digs his phone out. 

Henry's texted him. _happy xmas, how's the North?_

Henry hates where he's from, in a way he tries to make seem ironic. It mostly just comes off as bitter. He rarely even comes home for Christmas nowadays. Nick thinks he's in Japan at the moment. Somewhere in Asia. 

He fumbles his gloves off and types back: _Happy xmas!! Its alright. Pete's being a shit but then that's the usual. Do you think I'm immature?_

As soon as he sits Send he feels stupid. Henry usually takes hours to text back, and the message is just sitting there, embarrassingly. 

But lo and behold, a Christmas miracle. Henry responds straightaway. 

_ha of course I do, it's part of your charm. what did he say? x_

Nick chews his bottom lip. 

_That I'm irresponsible and not a grown-up. And fat too. (that one's true I guess). Lovely stuff lols_

He puts his phone in his pocket, draws in a wobbly breath. Pig's rolling around in something nasty-looking, and Nick winces. 

"Pig!" he shouts. "Don't! C'mere! Stop that!" 

She looks at him and smiles, tongue wagging, before she gets right back into it. 

"Idiot," Nick mutters, checking his phone. 

Henry: _sounds like classic Pete. least it's not that time when he found a dildo in your bag lols_

Nick snorts loudly. That was a bit of a mess. His first Christmas since moving to London, years and years ago. Pete went on a long rant about the big city and its corrupting effects.  

_True. I should look on the bright side, thanks Hens. Xx_

He sends it off and laughs as Pig trots up to him, fully covered in pungent mud. 

"You're bloody disgusting." 

Pig sits and waits for her treat. Nick puts the collar on instead, scritching her ears. 

"C'mere, idiot dog. Let's get you into a bath." 

\---

Nick hides out in his room for most of the day. He knows he's being sulky, but he can't help it. 

They send Jane to get him up eventually. She's the best at it. 

"Nick?" she says cautiously, peeking her head in. 

"What." Nick's lying on his side, scrolling through his phone. The baby's been kicking like a footy star, so he was Googling what the normal amount is, and then he got caught up on some mummy blog where the woman described what a _bonding experience_ it was with her husband to feel the baby moving around. Nick's hate-read eight more entries of her stupid blog. She's got a massive house in the country somewhere in middle America, three adorable children, and a loving husband. _And_ she knows how to cook. Cow. 

"D'you want to come down and play a game?" 

"No. I'm tired." 

Jane sits on the edge of the bed, sighing. "Nick." 

"Ugh, Janie, let me _alone_ , alright?" He stares determinedly at his phone screen. 

Jane watches him quietly. 

"Do you know what you need?" she asks. "A massage." 

"I don't need a massage." 

"Yes you do. C'mon, up you get," Jane says bossily, kneeing up onto the bed behind him and prodding him to sit up. 

"I'm tiiired," Nick whines, and she scoffs. 

"Come on, don't be silly. This'll put you right to sleep." 

Nick sighs and heaves himself upright, uncomfortably, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jane kneels behind him, digs into his shoulders. 

"Ow, that - hurts!" Nick yelps. "Christ, Jane!" 

"Your back's all knotted up," Jane says, briskly, pushing her elbow into his shoulder blade. "You're so tense, Nicky, s'not good for the baby." 

Nick's going to say something about his glowing report from the doctor and what does _she_ know about it anyway and he's perfectly fine, but then her elbow unlocks something in his back that sets off a long shudder down his spine and he drops his head, groans. 

"Oh my god, Jane." 

"There it is," she says with satisfaction, circling her elbow again, and Nick exhales slowly, eyes closing. It still hurts, but in a good way, now. His skin feels all tingly. 

"So," Jane says, gripping his shoulders and digging her thumbs into his back. "How's Harry?" 

"How should I know?" Nick says, voice strained from the pressure of her hands. "He's on an island or summat." 

Jane hums, rubbing in a steady rhythm. "You ever going to tell him?" 

"Tell him wha- _oh, god._ " That feels incredible. Nick has to stifle an embarrassing sound. 

Jane hums again, sweeping her thumbs in a circle. 

"You know," she says. "That you're having his kid." 

Nick straightens up so fast his back cracks and twinges with pain. 

"What?" he says, voice going high. "No I'm not. What the fuck, Jane." 

Jane pushes his head back down, clucking. 

"Nick." 

"I'm - that's not. No I'm not." 

"Whose is it, then? I know you don't want to tell me, but I think it's time." 

"Jane, don't." 

Jane sighs. "Nick." 

"It's just the miracle of life, Janie, don't question it," Nick says archly, and she stops massaging him, slides to sit next to him on the bed. 

"Nick," she says quietly. 

Nick can't look at her. 

"Babe," she whispers, taking his hand. "S'just me, alright, I'm your sister. You can tell me." 

His throat hurts. 

"It's not a big deal," he says eventually. "It's fine. It's just we were a bit stupid and - and now, you know. I don't mind doing it on my own." 

"Nick, you have to tell him," Jane says, low. "It's not fair." 

"What's not fair is that I'm the one who has to - to get fat and vom all the time and pop a baby out, that's the part that's not fair," Nick snaps. "Anyway, how do you know he doesn't know? Maybe I told him and he fucked off. Maybe that's why he's on a bloody island in the middle of the ocean right now." 

"I know you didn't tell him," Jane says patiently. "Because if you had, he'd be here right now." 

"He's twenty-three," Nick says, huffing out a laugh. "He's not cut out for this." 

"You get used to it," Jane says, rubbing his thigh. "He would get used to it. He'd do anything for you if he knew, c'mon, Nick. It's Harry." 

"Maybe that's not what I want!" Nick says, voice sharp. "Him feeling like he's got to - to do this. It's not- he's too young, and he doesn't want a kid right now-" 

"How d'you know that?" 

"He's said!" Nick says. "Not- not in as many words but he's-" 

"Nick." 

Nick swallows hard. 

"We're alright now, you know?" he says, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. "Me and Harry, we're - like. We're mates, and we don't see each other, and it's alright. I don't wanna mess that up." 

"So what did you think?" Jane says quietly. "Did you think you'd be able to just do this and never tell him?" 

"He's oblivious, anyway," Nick says, huffing out a sour small laugh. "He'll never-" 

"Don't be stupid," Jane says darkly. "Someone somewhere is going to find out, and then Harry'll find out and it'll bloody kill him that you didn't tell him. There's no way you're gonna get away with this, babe. I'm sorry, but you know that." 

Nick does know that. But at the same time, thinking about it makes him feel panicky and sick and he's already panicky and sick enough. 

He can't imagine telling Harry. Harry who's off lounging around on an island writing songs and drinking and surfing. Nick really doesn't want to be the person who brings Harry's shiny popstar life to a crashing halt. 

Harry's twenty-three, for fuck's sake. He's a child. 

"I know I can do it by myself," Nick says, slowly. "Not by myself, even, I've got- you know. Lots of help. I don't-" 

"Nick," Jane says, squeezing his knee. "That's not the point." 

"He doesn't want this," Nick says, voice rough. "I know that he doesn't." 

"You haven't even given him the chance." 

"I know he doesn't," Nick repeats, and he has to cover his eyes for a second, draw in an unsteady breath. Jane puts her arm around his shoulder and squeezes. 

"You're alright," she murmurs. "Sh-shh." 

"He basically told me we can't see each other anymore, so- so I know that he, he doesn't want this," Nick manages to say. "Everything's just fucked, Janie. The timing is fucked and- and it's fucked that we did what we did and now it's just, it's just like, I just have to deal with it on my own." 

"You're doing so good," Jane says in a low steady voice. "You really are." 

"Don't lie, I'm shit at it," Nick says miserably. "I'm not responsible."

"You are too." She squeezes him tighter. "You're doing so good. I _know_ you can do it by yourself, of course you can, Nick, but I just- I just don't want you to think you have to do it by yourself when you haven't even given him the chance to say no." 

Nick pulls away from her, rubs his palm over his eyes. The baby's shifting again, idly, and it just makes him feel queasier, unsettled. He puts a hand on his stomach, breathes deep. 

"Kicking?" Jane asks. 

Nick nods, wiping his eyes again. "Like mad."

"It's weird," she says. "Bit creepy, innit?" 

"Yeah," he laughs, voice thick. "Like a little alien. It's aliiiive." 

She laughs too, puts her hand over his stomach to feel, and the baby kicks right on cue. Such a show-off, she is. 

" _Nick_ ," she breathes, and puts her forehead against his shoulder, lets out a rough breath.  

Nick doesn't say anything. He doesn't have anything to say. His throat's hot. 

"D'you remember, when I was pregnant with Liv," Jane says, low in her throat. "Do you remember doing that? Feeling her kick?" 

Nick shrugs. He doesn't, really. He does a bit, but it's nothing he, like, held onto. 

"I just- I- this is really happening," she says. "You're really doing this." 

"You're so embarrassing, Janie." He pinches her side, and she yelps, throws her arms around him suddenly, squeezes hard. 

"Love you," she says. "I get to say it, I'm your big sister. Love you. Proud of you." 

Nick's chest squeezes. "Dooon't," he moans. "You'll make me cry again." 

"Proud of you, Mr. Breakfast Show host-" 

"Oh, don't!" 

She laughs into his ear. 

"You scare me a bit sometimes, Nicky," she mumbles against his cheek. "Couldn't do everything you've done." 

"Haven't done anything, don't be _stupid._ All I did was talk shite on the radio and get knocked up. It's not like it's hard." 

"Shut up, s'not what I mean. It's like, you're my brother, but you're, like, you're really important to a lot of people, y'know, and- and I'm proud of you." She sniffles, pulls back, looking embarrassed. "I need to go to bed, don't I." 

"Yeah, think so. Been hitting the eggnog too hard." 

She smiles at him, eyes red-rimmed.

"We're all proud of you," she says, softly. "Pete too. He's just shit at showing it."

Nick looks away, swallowing hard, and she hugs him again. 

"Good night, Nick." 

"G'night, Janie." 

\---

He goes for brunch when he gets back to London after Christmas with Sadie and Mairead, who are both wild-eyed from too much family time and immediately start drinking and complaining about their ex-husbands. 

Nick takes a thoughtful gulp of his sadly champagne-less orange juice, and interrupts Sadie's rant about Jude buying _extravagant unnecessary things_ for the kids. Rudy's got a car off him, apparently, and Sadie's furious. 

"So," he says, and Sadie breaks off, huffing out a breath. "Change of subject, but. Did you have sex when you were knocked up?"

"Oh god yes," Sadie says, eyes lighting up, so loud someone looks over from another table. "Constantly. I felt like a teenage boy." 

Nick wrinkles his nose. 

"I did too," Mairead says, sucking at the straw in her smoothie. "Not as much as bloody horndog Sadie here, apparently, but. Y'know. You do get a bit randy. All the hormones. And knowing he's the one who knocked you up, y'know, it's." 

She smiles, wiggles her eyebrows. "Mmm. Was some good times." 

Nick nods, staring down at his French toast. He forks up a bite, and then another, chewing morosely. Carbs. Carbs are his only form of love and affection, now, coz it's not like Nick's going to find someone to shag, and the father of his kid is sunning himself on an island, probably covered in fit tan local girls with flat stomachs and belly-button rings and hula skirts. Nick's not entirely sure where Harry is, but he can't stop imagining hula skirts. 

"Babe," Sadie says, squeezing his hand. "Do you fancy getting laid?" 

"No, god," Nick says, with a shudder. "I look like a bloody whale." 

"You look lovely, don't be stupid," Mairead says. "All glowing and fresh-faced. Very fertile." 

"Eww," Nick whines. "Don't say I'm fertile." 

"You are, though, love, and people fancy that, I'm just saying." 

"Not gay blokes." Nick forks a raspberry into his mouth. "Gay blokes fancy, like, a tiny waistline and arm muscles and the ability to wear jeans that aren't stretch waist." 

"Oh, Nick. You're thirty-three, you're not trying to pull someone in a bloody club, just - you should try and meet someone in a normal place." 

"I'm not going to meet someone," Nick says, grabbing Sadie’s mimosa and taking a sip. One won’t hurt. "What's the data on people meeting people while pregnant? It has to be zero. I'd _never_ date someone who was pregnant. Got it hanging over your head the whole time, don't you? _Literally_ comes between you if you try to have a shag." 

Mairead snorts, but Sadie just sighs at him. 

"If you just want a shag, you can find someone," she says. "You're Nick bloody Grimshaw, you can always find someone." 

"I'm not, though," Nick says, chewing his lip, shoving another bite of toast into his mouth. "I'm, like, Nick Grimshaw and company. Company being two and a half stone and a bleedin' infant on the way." 

"Why's all this come about, hmm?" Sadie says, taking his hand. 

Nick turns his hand up, lets her lace their fingers together. 

"Oh, nothing," he says, sawing off a bite of french toast with his free hand. "Just. You know. Feel a bit like I'm never going to have sex again in my entire life. And with the way I feel about-" 

He gestures at himself, popping the bite in his mouth. "- that might be a good thing." 

"You are _so_ dramatic," Mairead says, shaking her head. "Grim, love, this is nine months of your life. I mean, yes, then your life is wildly different because of the little one, but you're still _you_ , okay? You can still have sex and feel sexy-" 

"Sex got better for a while, after Iris came," Sadie says, thoughtfully.

"Think of Beyonce, alright? She had Blue and then wrote a whole album about sex!" Mairead says, hitting her fist on the table. "She's a _liberated woman_!" 

"Yeah, Nick, be like Beyoncé," Sadie adds. 

"Beyoncé's got Jay-Z." 

"You've got Jay-Z!" Sadie says, grinning evilly. "Pig!" 

Nick elbows her in the side. "Cow."

"Honestly, though, Nick," Mairead says seriously. "You look lovely now, and you're going to look lovely once she's born, and your life's gonna settle a bit. Not for a while. But it will, I promise." 

Nick drains Sadie's mimosa. Sadie sticks her tongue out at him.

"And you'll be able to _drink_ again," Mairead says, laughing, whisking her glass out of the way so Nick can't steal it. "Properly!" 

Nick licks wistfully at the champagne on his mouth. "Thank fucking god for that." 

\---

New Year's is at Nick's, with the only people he could convince to stay in. He has dinner early on with most of his friends, at a long table at the Standard, everyone laughing and drinking and chatting for a good two hours, and then almost everyone fucks off to various parties and clubs and Nick ends up back at his flat with a mum, a four-year-old, and two married couples. Cool crowd. 

They've got the telly on to watch the ball drop in New York- Aimee insists - and every non-pregnant person is getting steadily drunk on about five bottles of champagne. 

Arlo's running around being a ham, entertaining everyone with some song he made up about Father Christmas and a dinosaur. He tires eventually, crawls onto the sofa between Mairead and Nick, and Nick puts a blanket over him. 

"Are we old?" Henry says, leaning forward from where he's wrapped up with Dave on the opposite sofa. "I mean, it's ten-thirty and I'm on a sofa and not even that drunk. Five years ago I'd be off my head with a dick in my mouth." 

"Shh!" Mairead scolds, and Henry covers his mouth, laughing. Nick peers at Arlo, who's fast asleep and unscarred by talk of blowjobs. 

"The night is young, babe," Dave says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Nick snorts into his glass of sparkling apple juice as Henry smacks him. 

"Would you honestly rather be in a club right now?" Aimee says. "Getting sweated on by teenagers and covered in glitter? And oh, god, imagine trying to get home. The _traffic_." 

"You sound entirely too sensible," Nick says. "Where's the Aimee I know and love?" 

"She is _tired_ , sometimes," she says, laughing. "And also drunk. Unlike you, daddy." 

"Can you not - do not call me daddy. " 

"Daddy," Ian contributes, smiling evilly. He's about three-quarters of a wine bottle deep and has been getting steadily quieter and more flushed. It's nice, that he's a quiet drunk. God knows Nick's already friends with enough loud ones. 

"Shush," Nick sighs. He leans his head back against the sofa. "Oh god. I'm fading." 

"Nicholas," Henry says, pouring himself more wine. "That is not allowed. It's not even eleven. You're not even _drinking._ " 

"I'm _tired_ ," Nick whines. "Maybe I just need a nap?"

He gets a chorus of protests. 

"Heard that before," Ian says, while Aimee whines, "Just another hour, Nick!" 

\---

Nick lasts twenty minutes. At quarter past eleven he's dozing off, and Mairead leans down over him, pats his cheek gently.

"Babe," she says softly. "Wake up."

Nick opens his eyes. Henry and Dave are nowhere to be found and Aimee and Ian are half-snogging, half-talking, heads close together. The coffee table's littered with empty wine bottles. 

Henry comes back in from the kitchen, clucks down at Nick, shaking his head. 

"Oi, nana, wake up." 

"Shh, let him be," Mairead says. "Go kip a bit, Nick love. And take Arlo with you, he should be on a proper bed." 

Nick yawns instead of answering, lets her kiss his cheek, and then stumbles up from the sofa. 

"Happy New Years, Grim," Henry calls as he wanders back into the kitchen, and Nick blows him a kiss. 

"Give 'im here," Nick says to Mairead, yawning again. Mairead deposits Arlo in his arms, and Nick staggers off towards the bedroom. 

Arlo's a heavy warm weight against his side, his eyes fluttered shut and his slack legs kicking against Nick's hip with each step. Nick puts his face into Arlo's hair, takes a deep breath. 

"Mmgh," Arlo mutters, displeased, shifting restlessly. 

"Off to bed, love, shh," Nick says, kissing his head. "It's alright." 

He sets Arlo on the unused side of Nick's bed on top of the duvet, puts a blanket over him. It's a throw but it covers him handily, and Arlo immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth and falls asleep again. 

"Night, love," Nick says, patting his soft-haired head, and he crawls underneath the covers on the other side of the bed and promptly passes out. Just a kip, his arse. 

When he wakes it's still dark out, and he peers at the clock sleepily. Half past two. Which means it's the new year. Hooray.

He lies still for a minute, his eyes open in the darkness, and puts a hand against his stomach, touches the skin gingerly.

A year ago he was waking up hungover on a sofa in East London, and he'd done something questionable with one of Daisy's male model friends, and Harry was in LA. Harry was in LA but he was coming back soon, for part of his break before tour, and Nick remembers sitting at an unfamiliar kitchen counter and queasily drinking water and texting Harry and feeling excited.

He _remembers_ that. One year ago, and he couldn't have even imagined. 

He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face and struggles upright. Arlo's still next to him, with Mairead now, both of them curled up under the duvet. Mairead's breathing the slow rattling breaths of the truly drunk, and Arlo's clutching her arm like a lifeline. 

Nick huffs a laugh, and stands up. 

Henry and Dave are gone. Nick's not surprised. Henry's always been good at getting himself home, no matter where he is. Aimee and Ian are on the sofa, fast asleep, Ian's face pressed into the front of Aimee's jumper and her hand around his back. They look happy. It's weird, how they can look that way when they're asleep.

Nick watches them for a moment, and steps quietly into the kitchen. More and more it's starting to feel like he has someone with him, all the time - like it's not just a _thing_ but an actual _person._ His person. Nick knows she's coming soon, and now that it's almost here he vacillates between wanting it to just happen already, and sheer terror. 

He pours himself a glass of water, stands against the counter and takes a sip. 

Pig click-clacks out of the lounge, bumps her head against his legs, wanting a scratch. Nick bends down best he can to rub behind her ears.

"Need a wee, Pig dog?" he whispers, and Pig’s stubby tail wags back and forth. He pads out to the conservatory and nudges the back door open. Pig slips out, sprints into the garden, and Nick shudders against the cold. 

God. A new bloody year. Nick stares out into the back garden, holding himself tense against the chill, watching Pig sniff around. She's taking her sweet time. 

"C'mon, Pig!" he calls, and she looks back at him before ducking her head again, unbothered. Nick sighs long-sufferingly, steps on one of his bare feet with the other to keep it warm. 

"Pig!" he says again, fruitlessly. Stupid dog. 

He leans against the door, shuts his eyes for a minute and exhales. 

Christ. If he lets his defenses down it rushes in fast. He's _lonely,_ is the thing, the ridiculous thing he can't really admit to anyone. He's fucking lonely. Surrounded by people and he’s still so awfully alone, because none of them are Harry.

Oh, how _dramatic_.

The sob almost surprises him. He chokes on his breath, eyes going hot, hunches his shoulders. 

"Shit," he mutters, wiping his eyes. "Shit. Pig! Pig, fucking come inside!" 

His voice is strained and his head hurts and he just needs to go to bed. He needs to go to bed and fall asleep and wake up, because the mornings are always better. The nights get so - dark. 

He laughs weakly to himself. That's some Harry-level philosophy. The nights are so dark. No shit, Grimshaw.

Pig won’t stop running around out there. Nick draws in a wobbly breath, tears still spilling from his eyes. 

"Pig, come _on_ ," he chokes out, and he startles when he feels a pair of arms go around his waist from behind. 

"Babe," Aimee says, soft, worried. 

"I'm fine," Nick says, scrubbing at his damp cheeks. His face is cold, where the winter air hits wet skin. "I'm fine, go back to sleep." 

"Hey," Aimee murmurs, warm and pressed against his back. Her hands lock together on top of his belly and Nick can't keep himself from letting out another sob. Goddamnit. It's late. He's tired, that's why he's being so-

"God, it's okay, Nick, it's okay," Aimee whispers against his neck. "It's okay. Shhh. Shh." 

Belatedly, Pig dashes inside, past Nick's legs and into the flat. 

Aimee lifts one of her hands to shut the door, turns Nick towards her, puts her face against his neck. 

"It's okay," she says, quiet. "You're okay." 

"I'm not, though," he says, voice shaking. "Fucking- hell, Aimee. Fucking hell." 

"You are," she says. Her breath smells like stale booze but she's so warm, and Nick's freezing. 

"I'm so scared," Nick says, and laughs. It sounds manic. "I'm so scared. What am I doing? I can't do this. I can't fucking do this, this was a stupid idea, I- I can’t -" 

"Yes you can," she says fiercely. "You're just tired. You can. I know you can. Even if you don't think you can, it's happening no matter what. Okay? And you're going to figure it out." 

"I'm gonna be by myself," Nick mumbles. 

"No you won't, babe," she says gently. "I promise." 

"God," he says, thickly. "I miss Harry, Aims."

"I know." 

"- and it's not _fair_ ," Nick says, voice rising in a whine. "It's not fair." 

She murmurs something unintelligible, stroking his back. 

“I miss him,” Nick repeats. It feels good to say, like scratching an itch. He thinks it all the time but he never says it. “Fuck. God, this is stupid. I can’t stop fucking - _thinking_ about him. About - about how he’d be, like, being a- a- dad. It’s so stupid, Aimee-” 

“That’s not stupid,” she says, voice hot. 

“It’s stupid cos it’s not happening!” he says, making some awful sound like a laugh, wet in his throat. 

“Doesn’t make it stupid. It’s okay to miss him.” 

"Think I love him, still, a little bit," Nick mumbles. "Don't tell me _that's_ not stupid." 

"You loved him for a long time, Nick," Aimee says, stroking his hair out of his face. "It'll take a long time to get over it. That's life. It's just that you're having a baby at the same time, and that's fucking scary." 

Nick draws in a long breath. 

"Aims?" 

"Yeah, babe." 

"D'you think if I'd told him, right when I found out- do you, do you think he would've come home?" 

Aimee's face goes soft. 

"Nick-" 

"I'm not saying I wish I had." 

"I know. I just- I don't know, Nick." 

"I've thought about it," Nick admits. "Telling him. I saw Lou Teasdale at this thing last month and I just- I wanted to tell her, like, because I know she talks to him, but I- I didn't. That's better, right? It's better I didn't, for - for both of us, right?" 

Aimee touches his cheek. 

"Maybe don't think about it being better or worse," she says. "Maybe just think, like, it's just how it is. It's how it is. And you'll figure it out." 

"I think I fucked up," Nick whispers. 

"Don't think like that. Honestly, Nick, you're just psyching yourself out because you're tired." 

"Okay," Nick says, shortly, scrubbing his palm over his eyes. "Okay. I'm gonna go back to bed. Sorry." 

"Love you," Aimee murmurs, not pushing him for once. "You know that, right?" 

Nick nods, and she kisses his cheek, before she pads back over to the sofa, sinks down, curling up behind Ian and burying her face in the back of his jumper. 

Mairead's still asleep, but Arlo's managed to wriggle himself free. He's spread out like a starfish on Nick's side of the bed, cheek to Nick's pillow.

Nick huffs a laugh, and carefully rolls him over towards his mum. 

He gets into bed, and jerks in surprise when Arlo says, voice heavy with sleep, "Uncle Grimmy?" 

Nick can see his eyes glinting in the moonlight. 

"Yes, love." 

"S'it the New Year?" 

Nick snorts softly. "Yeah it is, little lion. Happy New Year's." 

Arlo yawns so wide Nick can see all his teeth. 

"Happy New Year's, Uncle Grimmy," he says sleepily. He reaches out with one hand, touches the curve of Nick's belly. "Happy New Year's, baby." 

Nick strokes Arlo's hair off his forehead. Pinches one of his plump cheeks gently. 

"Thank you, love," he says, drawing in a shaky breath. "Go to sleep, it's alright." 

Arlo settles down into the blankets, yawning again. Nick's not sure who falls asleep first. 

\---

In the end, it doesn't matter how much time Nick's spent dreaming about Harry finding out. All the different ways he's planned of telling him. 

None of that matters at all, because Harry comes back on his own. 


	3. Chapter 3

Two days after New Year's, and the break is starting to feel a little long. Nick's ready to go back to the radio. He's pouring his umpteenth cup of herbal tea, late Wednesday afternoon, when the doorbell goes and he accidentally slops hot water over his thumb. 

"Fucking Christ!" he yelps, sticking his thumb in his mouth and setting the kettle down with a clang. "Ouuuch, god bloody fucking damnit-" 

He goes to the door still sucking his finger, scowling.

And then he swings it open and it's Harry. 

Harry's looking back over his shoulder at the empty street, a leather weekender over one shoulder and his hair tied up in a bun, and Nick freezes, hand clenching around the doorknob. 

This can't be happening. This- this can't. Harry's not. In London.  He would tell Nick, before he came back to London- 

"Haz?" Nick says, and Harry turns around, his smile wide. 

It falls off his face when he sees Nick, and then sees Nick's belly. His eyes go comically huge. 

Nick crosses an arm over his chest, flushing hard. 

"Grim," Harry says, shakily. "I- I-" 

"Christ, come in already," Nick says quickly, over him, beckoning him inside and shutting the door behind him. Don't need any pap shots of them together, not when it's already been a pain in the arse getting rid of the rumors. 

"Thought you were in, like, the Bahamas or something," Nick says, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Harry's golden-tan and lean and wearing jeans that show off his long legs, and Nick's - well. Nick misses wearing jeans with zippers. 

"British Virgin Islands," Harry says faintly. "You're - you're pregnant." 

"Maybe I'm just fat," Nick says, raising an eyebrow. "S'quite rude to assume, Harry Styles." 

His voice is shaking a bit from nervousness, and something in his stomach is aching at the sight of Harry, solid and in the flesh. That's - he's half of the kid inside Nick. Harry’s _half_. It's making Nick feel more wobbly than he thought it would. Needy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry says, his weekender slipping off his shoulder to land with a thump on the floor of Nick's foyer. "You never - God, Nick, how far are you along?" 

"Thirty-four weeks," Nick says. "And I emailed you-" 

"No you didn't." 

"Yes, I did." Nick didn't, but Harry's got enough random email addresses that it's a believable lie.

"I didn't get it," Harry says, staring at his midsection like it's a science exhibit. "Thirty-four- that's- you're - you're so big." 

"Excuse you," Nick snaps, clutching his arm tighter over his chest. "Did your little island vacation get rid of all your social skills?" 

"I'm - I just - I'm-" Harry stammers, and then looks up, meets Nick's eyes. "God, I'm sorry. I'm just so jetlagged and I wanted to just come say hello, like, I wanted to make sure we were okay, and I - I just wasn't. Expecting. You to be - well, expecting." 

Nick knows Harry's freaked out because he doesn't even laugh at his own idiotic joke.

"Yeah, well," Nick says. "It's old news by now." 

"Like, what, a month til you're due, then?" Harry asks, brow furrowed. "Shit, that's soon. That's so soon." 

"I know." Nick's throat is feeling scratchy and hot for some reason. It's just - "Thought you'd be a bit happy for me, maybe." 

"I - god, I'm sorry," Harry says, looking at him wide-eyed. "I am, I am, I'm - I'm just so tired. I'm so - this is amazing, Nick, I'm so-" 

And - oh, shit, now Harry looks a bit damp-eyed. 

"Sorry," he says roughly, clearing his throat. "I'm really happy. I'm just in shock, I think. You didn't _tell_ me." 

"Yeah, well, I tried," Nick mutters. "Fancy a cup of tea?" 

Harry nods slowly, follows him into the kitchen. Nick can feel his eyes on him, heavy like a tangible weight. 

The kettle's still warm, but Nick flicks it back on anyway, gets Harry a mug.

"How was your retreat, popstar?" he asks, trying to sound bright and entirely normal. "Do you feel refreshed and revived? You look quite glowy." 

"Got massively and completely bored, by the end," Harry says, leaning against the counter next to him. "Kept thinking about getting a really greasy street kabob. Like one of those ones you know'll give you gut-rot." 

"Weird fantasy," Nick laughs, pushing the mug across to Harry. 

"Yeah," Harry says absently. "I'm sorry, I'm just still, like. I - you didn't know before I left? That you were- you know-" 

"Yeah, didn't know," Nick lies, staring down into his tea. "Course I was bloody clueless. Thought it was too many toasties and a constant hangover." 

Harry lets out a strangled sort of laugh. 

"So if you're - you know. If it's been that long. Who's, um, I mean, are you - are you seeing anyone?"

He sounds hopeful. Nick clenches his jaw.  

"Now you sound like the Mirror," he says, feeling his pulse pick up warily. "Sugarscape's got a bet on it, I think Zac Efron's in the running, which is well flattering, innit?" 

Harry just watches him patiently, and the silence starts to send Nick into a panic. 

 _He knows_ , he thinks wildly, and he says hastily, "It was someone in Ibiza. Not - not sure, exactly. Didn't get a name. I'm not with anyone." 

"You're always so careful, though," Harry says. "I mean. You're - usually so careful." 

"Yeah, well," Nick says, not looking at him. If Harry really properly looks at him right then, he'll know. He'll know. Nick can't hide it on his face. "I was really drunk, and I was stupid. And now it's - y'know. Suppose that's life, innit." 

"You haven't tried to look for him?" 

"Don't even remember his face," Nick says, his heart clenching hard. The baby's moving around like she knows he's lying through his teeth, all restless, making him queasy. "We were both twatted. Wouldn't be worth it." 

There's a heavy pause. 

"You're sure, uh," Harry says, slowly. "You're sure it's not mine?" 

And that's - Nick didn't expect him to just come out and say it. 

He stares down into his tea, for a beat too long, and then forces out, "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure." 

Harry's staring at him. 

"Nick." 

"I'm - I'm sure, of course I'm sure," Nick says, voice thick. Oh god. His stupid body's betraying him just when he needs it most. He can feel tears rushing to his eyes, and he coughs hard, gulps at his tea, forces it past the constriction in his throat. 

Harry takes a step back. 

"Holy shit," he says, breathless. "You're lying." 

Nick's hand shakes and he sets the tea down. 

"No I'm not-" 

"Yes you are," Harry says, voice starting to dissolve tearily. "You're lying to me. It's - fucking hell, it's mine, isn't it? From- from when, that time in May? My great-aunt’s funeral?" 

Nick looks at his tea. Doesn't say yes, doesn't say no. 

"Nick," Harry chokes out. "Just tell me." 

Nick swallows again, hard, and Harry grabs his arm, letting out a strangled sound. 

"Grim, you have to tell me, you can't do this, okay? You have to tell me." 

"Alright," Nick says, caving like a house of cards. "Yeah. Yeah. It's- yeah." 

There's a brief, tense moment of quiet, only broken by Harry's rough breathing.

"Jesus," Harry whispers, stepping away from him. "Oh, Jesus. This is a fucking joke. Is this a joke?" 

"But you don't have to worry," Nick says, before Harry can say anything else. "I'm - I've got all of it sorted, you don't - I don't expect anything." 

"How could you not tell me?" Harry says hoarsely. "You're- you're having my kid and you didn't fucking tell me and it's been ages." 

Nick looks down, at the mug of tea, at his stomach. What's the answer to that, really? 

"I- didn't-" 

"That's my kid," Harry says loudly, voice cracking. "You didn't tell me, and you're - he's mine, too, and you didn't tell me, oh my _god_ , Nick." 

"She," Nick says, under his breath, and Harry stares at him, bug-eyed, and then chokes out a sob. 

"Harry," Nick says, terrified. 

Harry shakes his head, coughs out another wet sob into his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Sorry, sorry," he gasps. "Sorry-" 

"You don't have to do anything," Nick says, tightening his arm against his chest, throat hurting. He hadn't really let himself picture Harry knowing - down that road only madness lies - but, but in the brief moments he imagined it it didn't feel this awful. "I promise. I've honestly got everything sorted." 

Harry keeps crying. 

"What," he says, breathless. "You just weren't gonna tell me? Ever?" 

"It wasn't - I just, it didn't seem like the right time," Nick says lamely. 

"When would the right fucking time be?" Harry snaps, wiping his wet eyes, sniffing in hard. "After she's born? When she's going off to fucking uni? When, Nick? You were gonna let her grow up not even -" 

He chokes on his own breath, has to put a hand over his mouth, calm down for a moment. Nick just watches, stricken. He's got no fucking nurturing gene in him, he can tell that now, because watching Harry sob just makes Nick feel frozen. He'll probably be an awful dad, he thinks numbly. He'll probably fuck up and leave her pram in a Starbucks, or at the very least emotionally scar her til she only wears black and runs off to join a circus. 

Nick takes a shaky step back.

Harry's wiping his hand over his nose, blinking shakily. 

"I'm sorry," Nick says, coughing. His eyes are starting to burn. "I just. I didn't - you're really young, Haz, you're so young, and we're not together, not properly, and you- you wrote that letter, you said we can't - see each other anymore, so I didn't want to-" 

"It's still my kid," Harry says, cutting him off, looking fierce and frightened with his eyes red-rimmed and his jaw set. "My daughter. You - you kept it from me, coz- coz why, you think I'll be a shit dad?" 

" _No_ ," Nick breathes, and his next inhale is shuddery. "No, of course not." 

"Why, then?" Harry asks, pleading. "Why?" 

Nick backs up til he's against the wall, tries his very hardest not to cry. 

"Because I'm shit, alright?" he says, voice harsh. "I know this isn't what you wanted, and I didn't want to- to ruin your fucking life. Alright?" 

Harry watches him with his eyes dark. 

"Course you're not gonna be a shit dad," Nick says, not looking at him, looking anywhere else. "Course not. But you don't have to do this _yet_." 

"But this is the time," Harry says, voice low. "This is what happened. It's like what you said, like, that's life, innit?" 

Nick really wishes they weren't having this conversation. 

"It's life," Harry says, voice hitching. "You're pregnant, and it's mine. Ours. Who cares if we didn't plan it, that's fucking _life._ You honestly think I'd leave again now that I know? Like, oh, this one doesn't matter to me, I'll just try again in a few years-" 

"I just didn't want to fuck up your life, alright," Nick says unsteadily. "You said in - in that letter you'd been feeling messed-up lately and I didn't want to fucking ruin your life."

"You're not," Harry murmurs, stepping forward. "Okay? You're just changing it. I can - I know I- I know I cried, I'm sorry I cried, that was shit of me. I'm not sad, I shouldn't have cried." 

"It's fine, whatever," Nick breathes, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I cried too when I heard." 

"Yeah?" 

Nick huffs a flat laugh. "Yeah. Felt like the end of the world." 

"I wish I'd been there," Harry says quietly. "I- just. I wish you'd told me." 

He leans against the counter opposite Nick, lets out a long shaky breath. 

"So- so she's alright, and everything, isn't she?" he says, hesitantly. "You know, she's healthy, everything's going alright?" 

"Yeah, she's healthy, Haz, she's all good," Nick says, nearly laughing at how surreal this feels. Just chatting with Harry about their child. "Due in February. The 13th. Soon now." 

"Winter baby," Harry murmurs. "Aquarius. Like me." 

Nick's already thought about that. Pretty fucking often if he's honest. Sugarscape’s also done a full analysis of that particular coincidence. "If she's not late." 

Harry nods to himself, slowly.

"I'm just so - like," he says, running a hand over his hair. "I didn't - I just can't believe this is, like. Happening. You know? I can't believe it." 

"Yeah." 

"And my - shit, my mum doesn't even know. The _lads_ don't even know. I'm gonna be a dad. In like - like five bloody weeks, it's _mad_ , I dunno. This makes no fucking sense. Christ, I need to call my parents."  

He's smiling now, dimples flashing and his eyes still teary. 

"I'll leave you to it, then," Nick says, chewing his bottom lip. "I- I should get to bed, got work in the morning." 

Harry looks up from where he's digging his phone out of his jeans pocket. 

"Wait, I-" he fumbles, staring at Nick. "Can I - do you think, um, I could stay here for a while?" 

"What's a while?" Nick asks, reflexively, and then feels a bit shit. Harry's still all shell-shocked, and Nick's the one who didn't tell him. Nick's the one who's - mucking all this up. 

Harry shrugs. "However long you'll have me, or - I - God, what're we gonna do when she's born? My place is bigger than yours but it's still so unfinished. I'll - I'll call the contractor tomorrow, and oh, god, I was gonna go to LA next week for a few months but I mean, I can't, so I have to call Jamie. Maybe he could come out here?" 

He's talking to himself. Nick watches, feeling both terribly fond and a bit sick, because this is what he was talking about, with ruining Harry's life. Harry's whole popstar life, which he worked for, which he loves. 

"I can do all that tomorrow," Harry says, shaking his head, letting out a breath. "I- I just want to call my parents. That's alright, innit? I can call my parents?" 

"Yeah, of course!" Nick says, acid in his voice. "They'll probably bloody hate me for not telling you, but go right ahead!" 

Harry looks at him, properly looks at him, smile slipping off his face. 

"Nick-" 

"Just - go ahead, tell them," Nick says, immediately. "I'm - I'm sorry. I'm tired." 

"Nick, I don't-" 

"It's fine, I said," Nick says, shortly, and when Harry doesn't respond, he turns on his heel and leaves. 

\---

Nick's trying to sleep when he hears the bedroom door creak open. 

"Nick?" Harry whispers. 

Nick doesn't answer. He shuts his eyes, and - inevitably, like he knew Harry would - he feels the bed dip as Harry crawls in next to him. 

Harry doesn't touch him, just curls up behind his back, stretching his legs out under the duvet. Nick can feel the heat of him, though. Fuck, it makes him feel good. Obviously, because Nick quite fancies having someone in his bed, but it's different because it's Harry. 

Nick's hormones are all fucked, because he has to blink back a rush of tears just at the way it feels, Harry tucked up next to him. _Where he's supposed to be_ , _finally,_ Nick thinks, and then curses himself. That's the baby talking. Needy little sprout.

For some reason, he can't keep himself from saying, "Did you tell your mum?"

Harry snuffles a little, asleep already. "What?" 

"Did you tell Anne." Nick's facing the wall, his back turned to Harry, and he still feels oddly exposed. 

"No," Harry murmurs. "Not yet. Just - maybe this should just be you and me for a bit. Til we figure some stuff out." 

Nick stares into darkness, turning it over and over in his mind. 

"Yeah, okay," he says. _You and me_. Jesus Christ.

There's a pause. 

"Are we alright?" Harry asks, swallowing audibly. "I feel like you're angry with me." 

"I'm not angry with you." 

"I thought - I mean. I know things got a bit fucked up at the end, before I left -" 

 _Bit fucked up is an understatement_ , Nick thinks, remembering the rainy drunken night that got them into this mess.

"- but I - you know. I'm here for good, now. Now that I know. I'm not leaving again." 

Nick makes a vague sound, noncommittal, though his heart jumps at the words. 

"And I just- I'm not saying that we have to be together, if you don't want," Harry says hesitantly. "Because I'm not- you know- I just, I don't want to put that pressure on you-" 

"Can we talk about this later?" Nick says, fisting his hand in the sheets. "I need to get to sleep or I'll be a mess tomorrow." 

"Yeah," Harry mumbles. "Night, Grim." 

Harry falls asleep shortly after, his breaths evening out, slow and deep. 

Nick stays awake, because the baby's awake. He can feel her moving, not kicking exactly, just - fidgeting. _She'll be restless_ , he thinks, putting a cautious hand over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling with exhausted eyes. _She'll run away from me, probably. Like her dad._

_\---_

Nick wakes up at half eight to an empty bed and a text from Gemma Styles that just says: _Is this all a joke? is harry lying?_

And then, twenty minutes after the first one: _jesus christ how could you lie about this nick_

Shit. Shit. Shit. Nick sits up as fast as he can. Guess Harry's told his sister then. So much for "just you and me for a bit". 

He wants to call Harry, and it's almost hilarious when he realizes he doesn't even have his bloody cell number. Harry changed phones before he fucked off to the island. What a fucking _joke_ this all is. 

He reads the texts again, and then sends back: _What did he say_

Gemma texts back immediately. 

_That you're having his kid._

_That he's going to be a dad_

_You lied to him for 8 MONTHS and you lied to me and my mum_

_I honestly feel like I don't even know you._

Nick puts his phone down, hand shaking, and forces himself to his feet. 

The flat's empty. Harry's gone. Probably crying onto Gemma's shoulder right now about the mess he's gotten himself into. 

Oh god. Nick's going to puke. 

He grabs his phone. 

Aimee won't fucking _pick up_. 

He rings her three times and then tries Ian. Ian's wake-up skills are honed from years of breakfast radio, so he picks up after two rings, sounding perfectly alert even though he was probably deep asleep. 

"Hello?"

"Ian, give the phone to Aimee," Nick says, pacing back and forth in his bedroom. 

Ian sighs long-sufferingly. "Morning, Nick." 

"Give the phone to Aimee, _please_ , I need to speak with her!" 

"She's asleep." 

"I don't care, I need to speak with her, wake her up please," Nick says, aware that his voice sounds a bit crazed. He swallows hard. 

"You're not having the baby, are you?" 

Nick rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Ian. No. Don't you think I'd lead with that?”

"Alright, alright," Ian grumbles, and Nick hears his voice, muffled- "Wake up, it's Nick. Aims. Aims, wake up. Nick needs you." 

Finally Aimee comes in, sounding grumpy. "Yeah?" 

"Harry's here," Nick bursts out. "Not- not here here. Not in the flat. But here in London. And he slept here last night, and - and I told him, about, you know, about-" 

"Whoa," Aimee says, cutting him off. "Whoa. Slow down. What? Start over. Harry, like, Harry Harry? Styles?" 

"What other fucking Harry is there?" Nick snaps, and he exhales hard. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just - Harry _knows_ , Aimee." 

There's a silence. 

"Harry knows," Aimee says faintly. "Oh. God. Oh my god. How does he-"

"He just showed up last night, and I couldn't - I dunno, he asked me, Aims. He asked me if it was his, what was I supposed to say? I couldn't lie straight to his face, I- I just. It just came out." 

"Okay," Aimee says, letting out an audible breath. "Okay. This is okay. He heard it from you, that's good. So what did he say? Are you- are you okay?" 

"I don't know," Nick says shakily. "He slept over here and he- I think he, you know, he's - he wants to do this. He's told his sister already." 

"Holy shit." 

"He says he's here for good," Nick whispers. "Like, what does that even mean?" 

There's a pause. 

"Babe," Aimee says. "That's a good thing. That's such a good thing." 

"But he can't mean-" 

"He does, Nick. He means he's here for good, like, he's staying. To, you know, be a dad with you." 

Nick stops dead, and then falls back to sit on his bed, staring wide-eyed at the wall. 

For some reason it's only hitting him now, as Aimee says it. 

"Oh my god," he says. "Oh god." 

Aimee snorts. "Nick." 

"I just. But he - Aimee. Shit." 

"He slept over?" 

"In my bed," Nick says. "But we didn't- I don't know. We fought. He cried, and everything. Gemma’s fucking furious with me. Oh _fuck_ , Aims. This is so fucked." 

"Listen, okay?" she says, calmly, slowly. "He knows, now. It's gonna be different now, but it's going to work out, just. Just go with it." 

"Go with it?" Nick says, voice high. "Go with it. I'm having her in a month and you want me to just _go with it_?" 

"Poor choice of words, fine, but like- Nick. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to - to work all your things out with him. But he's here, and you- you missed him, didn't you? Hear him out." 

"That's not-" Nick starts, and he hears the front door shut. "Oh shit oh shit. I think he's back." 

"Call me later, okay? And _breathe_." 

Nick hangs up, because he can hear footsteps coming down the hall. He steels himself, tugs his shirt down, sits up straight. 

The bedroom door nudges open, and Harry peers in. 

“Morning,” he says, cautiously. 

“Morning,” Nick breathes. His heart is pounding. Harry’s eyes are soft and sleepy and his hair’s in loose curls around his face. God, Nick hasn’t had a good look at him in forever. 

“Brought breakfast,” Harry says, nodding out at the hallway. “If you’d like.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Nick says, and Harry comes into the room, offers him a hand up. Nick takes it.

“Didn’t know what you’d want,” Harry says, ambling down the hall behind Nick. “Got, like, croissants. Egg and cheese toastie. Porridge. Fruit.” 

“You told Gemma,” Nick says, because it’s the only thing he can think of. 

Harry looks at him wide-eyed for a second, and then bites his lip. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I- I dunno, I couldn’t, like, not tell someone.” 

"Thought it was just you and me," Nick says, trying not to sound mean. 

"She's my sister," Harry says, looking a little shifty-eyed. "I just- and I'm back in town, there's pap shots of me at the airport already, so I just- I dunno. We got breakfast, and she asked, and I - and I told her." 

"She asked if you were having my baby? Really? _Wow_ ," Nick says, needling him. 

Harry blinks at him, in that slow way he does when he fully understands the question but he doesn't want to keep fighting. 

"Never bloody mind," Nick mutters. "Never mind." 

There's a silence. Nick reaches for a croissant, rips off a corner with his teeth, crumbs scattering everywhere. 

"She wants to have dinner with us," Harry says quietly. "Tonight. If you're- if you're free." 

Nick swallows a mouthful, brushing crumbs off the front of his shirt. 

"Yeah," he says. "Let's do it. Dinner with the family. Taste mine first, make sure she doesn't poison it." 

Harry's mouth goes tight. 

"She's not angry," he says, voice low. 

Nick laughs. "Sure she's not, popstar." 

"Nick-" Harry starts, and he sighs, exhaustedly. "Just. Meet me at hers tonight, yeah? I'll send you the address." 

Nick tears off another piece of croissant. 

Harry's already tired of him. One bloody day, and he's already - Nick doesn't know how to say, _I'm not gonna get any easier_. 

"Yeah," Nick says, forcing a smile. "Send me the address." 

"Meet at seven?" Harry says gratefully. 

"Yeah." 

Harry nods, and grabs a banana off the counter. 

"I- I have to get some things sorted," he says. "I'll see you tonight. Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Nick repeats dully, and Harry presses a careful, brief kiss to Nick's temple before he smiles weakly at him and ducks out of the front door. 

Nick sits there, staring at his half-eaten croissant. 

\---

For about ten minutes, Nick actually thinks the dinner was a good idea, and then Harry goes to the toilet and Gemma leans in, her eyes fixed on Nick's.

"I still think this is a bloody joke," she says. "You can tell me, you know, if it's all a prank. If you two are taking the mick. I won't be mad." 

Nick swallows a mouthful of Diet Coke. 

"Not a prank," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "Sorry." 

"Because if it's _not_ a joke, that would mean that you lied to me, and Harry, and everyone," Gemma says, head tilting, a dangerous glint in her eye. "And that would be incredibly fucked up."

"Call me fucked-up, then, go right ahead," Nick says sourly. He hasn't got the patience for this. 

Gemma's eyes narrow, jaw setting.

"It's so weird, cos I thought you were just sort of a slag," she says, voice like acid. No niceties now. "You've always sort of had that reputation, haven't you? Pretty easy?" 

Nick keeps his face perfectly blank. 

"I thought it was sad, actually," she says, huffing out a small mean laugh. "Like, I felt sorry for you, that you didn't even know who the dad was, and you couldn't really find anyone to stick around and be with you. My mum and I both did. She said it was _such a shame_ , because you were _such a sweet boy_." 

Nick's throat burns. He looks down, just to get away from her eyes. 

"And then it turns out it's _Harry_ , and you didn't even fucking have the decency to tell him." She laughs again, humorlessly. "Never mind that he's like a decade younger than you, that's never really bothered you, has it-"  

"He's coming back," Nick mumbles, just as Harry steps back into the room, shaking his hands and smiling at them both.

Gemma shuts up, like Nick knew she would. 

"This looks amazing, Gem," Harry says easily, sliding into his seat and forking some salad onto his plate. "Doesn't it, Nick?" 

"Yeah," Nick forces out. His hand is shaking a little, and he buries it in his lap. "Yeah. Thanks so much, Gemma." 

"Of course, Nick," Gemma says, voice glinting-bright and sharp like a knife. 

Nick smiles at her, and Gemma smiles back, and Harry shoves some spinach in his mouth, completely oblivious.

\---

Nick's getting his jacket on to leave when Gemma appears in the front hall of her flat, one arm crossed over her chest.

"Why don't you stay over here, Harry?" she asks, very innocently. Nick tenses up. 

"I- uh," Harry says, shoes already on, keys in hand. "I was gonna drive Nick home. And we've, like-" 

"He can call a car," Gemma says curtly. "He managed to get here without driving." 

Harry looks at Nick. Gemma's staring at him over Harry's head, her eyes hard. 

Nick feels sick. 

"You can do whatever you want," he says, shrugging, ducking his head to wind his scarf around his neck. 

"Wouldn't want to get papped outside Nick's place," Gemma says. "And I haven't seen you in so long." 

"I- I dunno," Harry says, chewing his lip. "I left all my shit at Nick's." 

"You can get it tomorrow." 

Nick feels suddenly like he'll cry, and he doesn't know why. Maybe it's the way Gemma's acting, like a secondary-school girl, all barbed sugar-sweetness and meaningful looks. Maybe he's tired. Maybe he hates the idea of Harry only being in Nick's bed for one night. 

 _Come home with me_ , he thinks, fiercely. He tightens his scarf, and doesn't say anything.

"I think I'm gonna go back with Nick," Harry says, softly. "We've got some things to talk about. Let's - let's talk tomorrow, yeah?" 

Gemma's eyes widen for a moment. Just a moment, and then she snaps back into neutral. It's admirable, almost. Nick recognizes it in her, because he can do it too, keep his disdain under wraps. Harry's never been able to, not convincingly, but Nick can. Nick speaks mean-girl fluently. 

"Fine," she says. "Call me." 

"I will." Harry kisses her cheek. "Thanks for dinner. Love you." 

"Yeah, thanks," Nick adds. 

She shifts on her feet. "Good night." 

"Night, Gem," Harry says, hand sliding onto the small of Nick's back. Gemma's eyes snap down to it, and Nick has to suppress a shiver. "I'll see you soon."

She nods, looking a bit lost, and Harry opens the door. 

\---

Nick avoids whatever things Harry wants to talk about by getting straight into bed. 

Harry crawls in next to him, and Nick lets out a soft exhale of relief. All sorted. Good-night, time to sleep, no chatting- 

"Nick," Harry says, very softly. "Can we - can we talk? About, like, plans?" 

"I'm sleeping," Nick lies, sticking a pillow under his hip, wriggling around to get comfortable. 

Harry breathes slowly for a minute. 

"We have to talk at some point," he murmurs. "That has to happen." 

Nick knows. He fucking knows. 

"Tomorrow," he says, shutting his eyes. 

Harry's unhappy. Nick's not even facing him and he can just feel it. 

He gives in, though. 

"Alright," he mumbles, and Nick draws in a shaky breath through his mouth and tries to fall asleep. 

\---

Nick wakes up when Pig jumps off the bed, tail wagging, click-clacks out of the room. 

He can hear Harry in the kitchen, his footsteps, the clink of a coffee mug. He's just getting to his feet when he hears Harry's voice. 

"No, I'm not-" Harry says, and then, louder, "I'm not going to do that." 

Nick pulls himself up, pads as softly as he can into the hallway. The boards creak under his weight, and he winces, puts a hand against the wall to balance himself. 

"I've gone over this with you, Natalie," Harry says. His voice is low, angry. Nick's eyes widen. "I'm not asking him to do that. If you've got an issue with that-" 

He stops, abruptly. Nick swallows hard. 

"- I'm not gonna talk about this. It's not like the lads will care. It's not like we're getting back together, anytime soon-" 

Another pause. 

"I just want-" Harry starts, and stops again. His voice is ragged. "Natalie, I'll come in- we'll, we'll both come in, we can talk about how to say this, but I'm not asking him to fucking-" 

He breaks off mid-sentence. Nick doesn't dare move. 

"The band-" he says, roughly. "The band isn't bloody important to me right now. I don't- I don't. Please, Natalie. Listen to me, alright? This is happening. You can figure out how to fucking spin it if it's that important to you. Ring me when you want me to come in. Cheers." 

A silence, and then the clatter of metal, like Harry's thrown his phone. Nick bites his lip, walks down the hall. 

Harry's bent over at the kitchen counter, breathing into his hands. His phone's on the floor, halfway under the stove. 

"Harry?" 

Harry jerks upright, peering back at him. 

"Morning," he says, reflexively, wiping his hair out of his face, letting out a breath. He ducks down to pick up his phone. 

"You alright?" 

"Fine, yeah," Harry says, smiling. It almost looks genuine, too. He's good at that. 

"Who was- who was that on the phone?" 

Harry flicks the kettle on, not looking at him. 

"No one," he says. "Just, you know. My manager." 

"That's not no one." 

"You want a brew?" 

"Harry." 

Harry looks at him. 

"It's nothing," he says. "She just - you know. Didn't take it so well." 

"You, uh, you told her? About this?" 

"I told her yesterday, we had a meeting," he says, biting his lip, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. 

Nick lets out a wobbly breath. Cool. Harry's just started telling people. 

"You didn't say anything," he says. "You can't just - go telling it without- without saying something to me first." 

"She's my manager, she needs to know," Harry says dully, not looking at him. He sounds tired. "That's how it works. She won’t tell anyone." 

Nick crosses an arm over his chest, turns around. Sod this. 

"Nick-" Harry says, as Nick leaves the kitchen. "Nick!" 

"Fuck off!" Nick yells back at him. 

He's only halfway down the hall when Harry catches up with him, taking him by the arm. 

"Nick." 

"I really don't want to fucking talk about this, right now," Nick says, not looking at him. "Like I really don't." 

"Grim," Harry says, hushed. "I know - I know this is, like, hard, and- fuck, I wish I could make it not be hard. I wish that people didn't bloody care so much about what I do, but they do, and you know that. And I'm not gonna, like, keep this a secret. I'm bloody finished with that." 

This is too much. This is - god, it's like eight AM, and Nick can't - this is just too much, all at once. 

"What'd she ask you to ask me?" Nick says, low. "What'd she want me to do?" 

Harry's eyes drop. 

"Harry." 

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. 

"She wants you to do a paternity test," he says, flatly. "To make sure it's mine. Before - before we start anything." 

Nick laughs. 

"What a cow," he says faintly. 

"Nick-" 

"That's fucking hilarious," Nick spits, shoving out of Harry's grip. "That's - you know how many times I wished it _wasn't_?" 

"Nick," Harry repeats, voice cracking. 

"That's so- I'll do it, if you want," Nick says, shrugging. "I will. Need to prove I'm not, like, a gold-digger or summat? After your popstar fortune?" 

He laughs again, loud and forced. 

Harry's face is tight. "I told her we're not doing it." 

"It's fine, I will. I don't care. I'll do it. Bring it on. Let's do it on telly, like Jerry Springer. _Harry Styles, you are the father_ -" 

"Nick, I'm not fucking doing it and neither are you."

"No, I want to!" Nick snaps. He's practically shouting and he knows he sounds hysterical, but it's either screaming or crying and he really doesn't feel like crying. "Christ, maybe by some bloody _miracle_ , it isn't yours! Wouldn't that be a fucking relief, you could fuck off to your island again and leave me alone!" 

Harry's eyes are huge. He gulps in a breath, and then turns around, turning his back to Nick. 

"If you want to do it I will," he says, his voice thick. Nick stares at him, stricken. "If you- if you really want." 

Nick's breathing hard. 

"I'll do anything you want," Harry chokes out, back hunching. "I- fuck. I have to go." 

"Harry-" 

"I just - I have to go. I'll - I'll see you later." Harry's voice cracks awfully, and he shoots Nick a watery smile over one shoulder before he walks down the hall towards the door.

Nick should follow him. 

Nick should keep Harry here, and take back what he said. 

He stays still and lets Harry go. If that's how he fucking wants it, he can just fucking sod off. 

\---

Of course, he spends the rest of the day in a fear spiral and eats almost everything in the fridge. Harry texts him around three, just - 

_I'm going out tonight with Ed & then staying at his so we'll talk tomorrow x_

Nick stares at the x for ten minutes, and then throws his phone into a pile of laundry. 

He falls asleep early, exhausted by the last few days. It's actually an alright night of sleep, until he's woken up. 

"Nick!" a voice calls, and the light turns on overhead, which is an affront on Nick's _personhood_ and _dignity._

"Turn that off!" he yelps, burrowing deeper into the covers and pulling the duvet over his head. 

"Niiick," the voice continues - low and male, so it's Harry, no doubt. So much for staying over at Ed's. Harry climbs on the bed with him, leans forward to whisper in Nick's ear. His breath stinks of vodka. 

"What the fucking fuck," Nick says, uncovering half of his face. "Turn the light off, Harold!" 

"Grim, I'm soooo drunk, shit, sorry," Harry says, laughing, and Nick peers at his phone on the nightstand. 2:00 AM. Two fucking AM! 

"Sleep on the sofa then," Nick mumbles, trying to cover his face again. It's 2:00 AM, he should be fast fucking asleep, like he was three minutes ago before Harry decided to pass out on top of him. 

"Nooo," Harry whines, flopping against Nick's back, Nick lying on his side facing the wall. "Nick, I. I just. Can I talk to her for a minute?" 

Nick's pretty fucking irritated. It's the middle of the night and Harry comes in _pissed_ , like he's rubbing it in Nick's face that Nick can't drink, and now he's sliding his hand under the duvet and touching Nick's hip. Nick fumbles to push his hand off. 

"Harry, I'm sleeping." 

"Please let me talk to her," Harry says, voice breaking. "Please, Nick. You haven't let me - I haven't even gotten to talk to her."

"She can't bleedin' hear you," Nick says sourly. "Go sleep on the sofa." 

"Nick," Harry says, and his breath catches hard, audibly. "Nick please." 

Nick clenches his jaw so hard it hurts and then releases, shuts his eyes. 

"I'm not moving," he says, and Harry lays an unexpected tender kiss on the back of his shoulder and then stands up. 

Nick thinks he's gone, but the light just turns off, and then Harry crawls back into bed and curls up behind Nick's back, slides his hand onto Nick's belly. It's cold, and Nick gives a little moan of protest, shivering.

"Don't listen, okay?" Harry whispers. 

Nick sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. He's gonna hear pretty much anything anyone says to the baby until she's popped out. That's just part of having her living in him like a little parasite. He can't turn his bloody ears off.

"Alright, Haz," he says. Harry's drunk, and the quicker Nick cooperates, the quicker he'll be able to go back to sleep. "Not listening." 

Harry's hand strokes over the curve of Nick's stomach, shockingly intimate, and Nick fights the urge to suck in. He can't at this point, but he still wants to every time. 

"Hi," Harry says, very softly. "Hi, baby." 

His fingers are soft, drawing up and down the side of Nick's belly in lazy, idle patterns. Nick's holding his breath and he doesn't mean to be. It's the first time Harry's touched him there. 

"I'm really excited to meet you," Harry murmurs, his mouth inches from Nick's shoulder, breath hot. He's been drinking something with vodka and citrus and sugar, Nick can smell it on him. "And I'm really - I'm really fucking scared. I don't - I mean, I shouldn't say that coz you'll hear it and come out depressed or summat. But I'm scared. I'm so scared." 

Nick's chest hurts. He keeps as still as he can. 

"I'm just like -" Harry lets out a hiccup. "I'm just like. I can't stop thinking about what you're gonna be like, y'know. What it’s gonna be like to hold you. When you're actually here." 

He trails off, and Nick feels him yawn wide, jaw cracking. 

"And you're gonna be so lovely," Harry says, slowly. "Like your dad. And your dad's gonna love you so much. And so am I. And m'sorry I wasn't here for all of it but I'm gonna be here for the rest of it. Promise." 

Nick sucks in a sharp silent breath, wipes at his stupidly wet eyes with one hand, as quietly as he can. 

"You're gonna know me, okay? Even if me and your dad aren't always - together, or whatever, you're mine too, alright?" 

His voice is trembling, his hand resting still and full and warm against Nick's stomach, his breath shuddering out against Nick's back. 

"Mine too," he says again, fiercely. He starts to say something else, but it fades off into a mumble, and then Nick hears his breath even out. 

Asleep, then. 

Ironically, Nick is now wide awake. He rubs his eyes with his fingers, coughs out the sob that's been waiting in his throat. Harry doesn't wake up. 

What would've happened, if Nick had just told Harry, as soon as he bloody found out? That same day? Said, _I need you to come back to London_. 

If he'd asked, right then- _will you do this with me_? 

Nick bites his lip hard but his eyes spill over anyway, and his back heaves as he sobs again. He fucked them up. He fucking fucked up, and now they're trying to start this all too late, and it's all Nick's fucking fault. 

"God," he mutters under his breath, scrubbing at his eyes. "Shit." 

Harry lets out a snore behind him, drunk and loud, and it surprises Nick out of his misery. He snorts, helplessly, and sniffs in hard, moves back against Harry gingerly. Harry's hand is still resting atop Nick's hip, and Nick leans his head back, feels Harry's soft slack mouth against the back of his neck, breath puffing hot. 

It's not that he's not in love. Nick's been a bit in love since that night six years ago when he introduced himself to One Direction at a posh dinner and Harry smiled, flashed those famous dimples, took Nick's hand very sweetly and said, "Hello, Nick Grimshaw, I'm Harry Styles." Nick's life went a bit mad, right then. 

It's just that loving Harry is fucking _hard_. For a while it was the simplest thing in the world, and the brightest thing, and the most exciting thing, and then their lives went mental and it started being _hard_. 

Harry's not meant to stay in one place. He wanders. He makes these little homes wherever he goes, and he gets bored if he's tethered down.

Nick's head hurts. He needs a cup of water but standing up sounds like the worst bloody idea imaginable, so he shuts his eyes and tries to sleep. 

\---

He wakes up to the sound of puking. There's something about that sound that induces a real panicky fight-or-flight feeling, apparently, because Nick's head jerks upward and stares around his room wide-eyed, heart pounding. 

The sound stops, and there's a moan, and then another gag-splash of sick. 

"Harry," Nick calls, cautiously. The bed's empty next to him, he sees now. "Is that you?" 

Harry moans again, wordlessly. 

"Idiot," Nick mutters, heaving himself up from the bed, groaning. He makes his way to the kitchen, pours out a glass of water, takes it back into the en-suite. 

Harry's a sad sight. His hair is pulled up in a wonky off-center ponytail and he's slumped against the wall, knees to his chest, looking pale. There's sick in the toilet and on the seat and probably some on the floor as well.

The father of Nick's child. What a responsible young adult. 

"Morning," Nick says. "Not doing so well, are we?" 

Harry mumbles something into his knee. 

"I do not miss hangovers," Nick breathes, handing him the glass of water. "That's for fucking sure." 

"Thanks," Harry mutters, reaching out for the glass with a shaky hand. 

Nick wipes his damp hand off on his shirt. 

"Well, uh," he says. "I could make some breakfast." 

"You don't have to," Harry says, peering up at him, his eyes red-rimmed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - did I wake you up last night?" 

"Barely," Nick lies. 

Harry nods, thunks his head back against the wall. 

"Sorry for vomming," he says, voice tiny. 

"S'alright." Nick waves him off. "The number of times I puked in here last summer. Mad. It was like vomit central. I'm immune by now." 

Harry hiccups, and nods, rubbing slowly at his eyes. 

"I feel like I said something stupid last night," he says. "Did I? Remember our pact." 

The pact was made years ago, when Nick was twenty-eight and very drunk and they were lying in Nick's bed at 3:00 AM on a Sunday morning after a night out, the room spinning. 

"Hey," Harry had said, that night. "We have to make. A promise. Okay?" 

"Okay," Nick said gamely, closing his eyes to see if that helped the spinning. Ooh, it did not. He opened them again, burping softly, wincing at the sour vodka-y taste. 

"If you say something really bad while you're drunk and I remember it, I'll tell you," Harry said, turning his face towards Nick. "And vice versa. It's what I do with the lads. We fill each other in if we black out." 

Nick laughed. "Love this exclusive 1D scoop I'm getting. Secret pacts and - and rampant alcoholism. Not very wholesome." 

"I'm serious, Nick. No matter what it is, we tell each other if we remember." 

"Alright," Nick sighed, and Harry had grabbed his hand in a weird, lopsided handshake, then dropped it and started snoring. 

Nick forces a laugh, looking down at Harry, red-eyed and peering suspiciously up at him. "You - you didn't say anything stupid." 

It's not technically a lie. 

Harry stares up at him for a moment more, then drops his head and groans. "I think I'm dying." 

"I think I'm not ready to be a single father," Nick says, lightly. "Come on. Should I make brekkie?" 

"I need a banana," Harry mumbles. 

Nick sighs. "I don't have any bananas, Harold." 

"Pleaaase, I need a banana, I'm dying," Harry says, tipping over til he's nearly horizontal. 

Nick scrubs a hand over his face, and says, "I'll see what I've got." 

There's nothing in the bloody kitchen except a pack of eggs and the end pieces of a loaf of bread. Not even butter. Nick hasn't been shopping in ages, because Indian food delivers, and his entire life has revolved around lamb kofta korma lately. 

He sighs at the empty fridge like that'll help, and then pads back into his bedroom, balances himself on the dresser as he steps into some trousers. Trousers is a generous description, really, but needs must. He checks to make sure Harry's still passed out in the toilet before he pulls off his shirt, slips on a giant cozy navy jumper.

He's halfway out the flat, grabbing his keys, when Harry drags himself into the kitchen. 

"Where are you going?" he says, voice hoarse, clutching the wall like a lifeline. 

"Grocery store," Nick says, breathing hard from getting his shoes on, straightening up and wincing as his back cracks. He grabs for his scarf, winds it around his neck. Fuck, it's barely ten AM and he's exhausted. "I've got like nothing in." 

"You don't have to do that," Harry says, brow furrowing. "I can go. Let me drive you at least, you shouldn't go alone." 

"I'm fine," Nick says, and Harry straightens up, says, "No, I really should go with you-" and then proceeds to stumble over to the sink and puke up a nice amount of clear bile. 

Nick's nose wrinkles, and Harry straightens up after a minute, his breath rough and audible, spit dripping slowly from his mouth. 

"Ugh," he mumbles, voice hoarse. "I need to go back to bed." 

"Go to bed then," Nick says, tightly. "Just don't puke on my fucking sheets." 

"But you can't - you don't have to go," Harry mutters. "You shouldn't go alone." 

"I'm not a fucking invalid!" Nick snaps. "How d'you think I've been getting by before you showed up?" 

Harry groans, like Nick's voice gives him a headache, and Nick really, really doesn't care, so he shoves his keys in his pocket and storms out of the flat. Well, he storms at a very slow rate, but it has the _emotional qualities_ of a storm-out. He makes sure to slam the door. 

It's bloody freezing out. Nick clutches the scarf around his neck, holds his belly with one hand as he makes his way up the steps, stepping carefully to avoid any surprise icy bits. In a horrid turn of events, there are paps at the end of the road, and they immediately start clicking away once they see him. 

"Nick!" one yells. "Morning, dad! Look about ready to pop!" 

Nick ducks his head and ignores them. Shit, his hair must look terrible. Oh, shit. Fucking Harry. Fucking Harry and his fucking stalker paparazzi.

"Give us a smile, then, Grimmy," another one calls. "Go on. You got Harry Styles holed up in your flat, eh? Rubbing your feet, is he?" 

Nick makes his way to his car, fumbling the door open and trying to get inside with as much of his dignity as he can. It's not much, especially when he nearly slips and has to catch himself on the curb with his bare hand. Pain shoots up his arm and his face burns with shame, unexpectedly, and he slams the door shut once he's inside, sits there for a long second, trembling. He inspects his hand briefly, the pinpricks of blood rising on his skinned palm. It's still throbbing. 

"Alright," he says to himself, shaking his hand out, jaw clenching. "Alright. You're fine."

He takes off, driving too fast, turning the radio on to drown out his own shaky breathing. They'll probably put something in the papers tomorrow about how he's not taking care of himself, but they can all fuck off straight to hell.

He gets butter and bacon and bread and a frozen pizza and a bag of salad and milk and some apples and yes, a bunch of bananas. The lady at the register grins broadly at him and says, "Grimmy, how're you doing?" 

"Good, thanks," he says, forcing a smile. He's never seen her before in his life. 

"How much longer now?" 

"Um, about five weeks," Nick says, running his card through the machine and gathering up his things. "Thanks!" 

The paps have thankfully dispersed by the time Nick gets home. He staggers back down the steps balancing his grocery bags, unlocks the door, and shuts it behind him. 

The kitchen's empty and smells faintly of sick. Nick sets down the bags, puts the fridge things in the fridge, and then stares at the bananas for a minute before he sets them down and walks slowly down the hall to his bedroom. 

Harry's asleep. Harry's sprawled on his side, all tan skin and tattoos and his hair matted on one side of his head. He's drooling on Nick's pillow and wearing absolutely nothing, and Nick has to clench down against a sudden wave of affection.

Like the sprout wants a view of her dad, she kicks fiercely inside him and Nick heaves a breath, balances himself in the doorway. 

"Fuck," he mutters, when she kicks again, and he walks back out to the kitchen, thinks about making tea and instead just sits on the sofa, sinks back, sighs, puts a hand on his stomach. If he's very still he can feel her wriggling. Alive. Nearly ready to come out.

He sits there for a good half hour, taking deep labored breaths, until he hears the creak of footsteps down the hall and quickly opens his eyes and sits up. 

Harry looks slightly less awful, his face damp and flushed like he's splashed some water on it, his eyes clear. He's wearing briefs and one of Nick's t-shirts - one he's actually been wearing recently, so it's absolutely huge on Harry, gaping over his flat stomach.

"Hey," he says, waving. His voice is sleepy and thick. 

"Hey," Nick says. "Got bananas." 

Harry croaks out a tiny "thanks" and pads barefoot into the kitchen. 

Nick sits there for a moment more, and then remembers his scraped hand. He turns his palm over, inspects it carefully. Not really that bad, just a bit raw, but he heaves himself to his feet anyway and goes into the en-suite to dress it. 

The en-suite _definitely_ smells of sick. Nick sits on the closed toilet seat with a tube of antibiotic and a few plasters, washes his hand off with a bit of wet loo roll covered in soap. 

He's rubbing in the ointment and wincing at the sting when Harry appears in the doorway, slouching against the side and taking a bite of his banana. 

"What're you doing?" he asks, yawning. 

"I fell," Nick says, not looking at him, squeezing a little more ointment onto his opposite finger and then patting it on. "When I was getting into the car." 

"Oh god," Harry says, hushed. "Nick-" 

"It's fine," Nick says, feeling mean for some reason, angry. He tries to hide it in his voice. "Just a scrape." 

"You didn't hurt yourself other than that, did you?"

"I just bloody said I was fine, Harry," Nick says tightly, grabbing for the plaster. "Were- were the paps here when you got in last night?" 

"They followed me from the club," Harry says with an irritated sigh, licking his fingers. "Wait- wait, were they still there this morning?" 

Nick nods, his jaw tight. 

"Shit," Harry breathes. "I'm sorry." 

Nick shrugs again, biting down all the awful things he wants to say. He knows it's not Harry's fault exactly, but his stomach's still twisting with shame at the photos they probably got, the way Nick stumbled in front of them. He already bloody hates being in front of cameras lately. 

"Here, let me," Harry says, sinking to his knees on the floor, between Nick's legs. Nick looks up from the plaster he's been fumbling with. 

"It's fine, Harry." 

"C’mon, give it here." 

Harry takes the plaster out of Nick's hand, carefully turns his injured palm over and flattens the bandage over the wound. His tongue's half out of his mouth in concentration. 

He puts the next one on, smoothes out the edges, and strokes his thumb over the top of it, tenderly. It doesn't hurt, really, just tingles. 

Harry looks up, eyes soft.

"That alright?" 

"Yeah, it's alright, thanks," Nick says, and takes his hand out of Harry's grasp.

Harry stays there, though, in Nick's way so he can't stand up. 

He puts a cautious hand against Nick's stomach, and Nick shifts away. 

"Harry." 

"Can I just, for- for a minute," Harry says. 

Nick goes still. He can feel his pulse racing. Harry strokes his hand over the curve, spreads it flat against the side, his touch careful but solid, warm. 

"This is mad," he whispers. 

Nick stares at him. It is mad. It's bloody mad that Harry's even here right now. 

"What does it feel like?" Harry asks, his eyes dark, flicking up to Nick's face.

"What does what feel like?" 

Harry licks his mouth like he's nervous. "Being pregnant."  

"Don't bloody ask me that," Nick mutters. "Feels like being pregnant. Dunno. I'm not an expert." 

Harry lets his fingers slide down, dragging over the swell of Nick's belly until they drop off. 

"Nick," he says. "I know you're not- you don't want to talk-" 

Nick shifts, panicky, trying to stand up, but Harry's still in front of him, blocking his way. 

"Haz, I just-" 

"I just- I'm still figuring this out," Harry says, voice rough. He's staring straight at Nick. "And I don't want to pressure you. Maybe that felt like pressure, yesterday, what I said about my manager…?" 

"I'm fine," Nick says curtly. "I am. I was just in a shit mood." 

That's as close to an apology as Harry's gonna get. 

"The thing is, like," Harry says, gnawing at his bottom lip. "I want to- I want to be a dad, and I want to do it with you, and that doesn't mean that we need to be- I mean, I want- I want to, but if you don't, because I know, like, you're angry with me-"

"I'm not angry with you."

Harry peers up at him. 

"I'm not angry," Nick repeats. "I'm just - it's just. I just didn't think you'd come back." 

It feels mean, the way he says it. Harry blinks, and then ducks his head. 

"Well, I'm here," he says. "Guess you've got to make the best of it." 

Nick glares at the top of his head. "That's not what I meant." 

Harry shrugs. "I get it, you wish I'd stayed in the BVIs. I'm not bloody leaving, though. Sorry." 

"I don't- that's not what I meant!" 

Harry looks up at him, and - oh. His voice was mad but his eyes are wide and glassy. 

"I - I want to move in together," he says, sniffing in hard. "I want her to grow up with both her parents in the house." 

Nick's heart stops. Who just _says_ a thing like that? Harry's peering at him determinedly, jaw set. 

"We're not talking about this now." 

"Why not now?"

"You got back to town three fucking minutes ago, Harry, give me a bloody second." 

"We're having her in a _month_ , Nick. We have to - you have to think about these things." 

"Not now." 

"When? Tomorrow? You keep saying that, and then it'll be February 12th and we won't have made any plans-" 

"Not _now_ ," Nick chokes out, suddenly on the verge of tears. It scares Harry enough that he backs off. Literally backs off, kneeing quickly away from Nick like he's touched fire. 

"I don't want to pressure you," he mumbles. 

"Then don't." Nick fumbles for a piece of loo roll, blows his nose. 

Harry nods, face solemn, and leaves the toilet. 

Nick lets out a slow shaking breath. 

\---

The doorbell goes a half hour later, and Nick looks up from his half-made sandwich. 

"Who's that?" Harry calls from the bedroom. 

"Dunno!" Nick yells back. "I'll get it!" 

He opens the door, and is immediately bodily tackled by a four-year old. 

"Grimmmyyyyy!" Arlo shrieks, and Nick stumbles backwards, looking up at Mairead and laughing.

"Oh god," he says. "I completely forgot you were coming over."

"Pregnancy brain," she says knowingly, leaning in to kiss his cheek while Arlo tries to throw his stubby little arms around Nick's belly. 

"God, I guess so," he says, shaking his head and then looking down at Arlo. "Hiya, little lion! How are ya?" 

"I'm good," Arlo says, smacking at him, and Mairead clucks and takes his arms. 

"Arlo, don't hit. We've got to be gentle with Uncle Grimmy, remember?" 

"Cos he's got a baby in his tummy," Arlo says knowledgeably, and Nick snorts, beckons them inside, shutting the door. 

"How've you been, darling?" Mairead says, hugging him again, sideways. "You look well. I haven't seen you since New Year's." 

"I feel insane!" Nick says back, huffing out a laugh. "Like actually mad. Why isn't this over yet? But, y'know. I'm alright, I am-" 

"Hello!" they both hear Arlo say, and Nick looks up to see Harry in the hallway, looking shy. His hair's damp and loose and he's in his jeans and one of Nick's jumpers.

"Harry Styles!" Mairead says, voice high. "Didn't know you had company, Nick-" 

"Um, yeah, sorry," Nick says, flushing. Harry's now crouched to speak to Arlo, very politely offering his hand to shake and introducing himself. "Yeah. Harry's been staying here for a bit." 

"Has he?" Mairead breathes, inaudible to Harry. 

Nick nods, and she leans in, kisses his cheek again. 

"Is that a thing?" she whispers. 

"Later?" Nick says back, and she nods, giggling.

"Hi, Harry Styles, do you remember me?" 

"Of course," Harry says, straightening up, and- how is Arlo already holding his hand? Good lord. "Mairead, yeah?" 

"Yes!" Mairead says, charmed, taking Harry's other hand. "Lovely to see you! I see you've met Arlo." 

"We've met, yes," Harry says solemnly. 

"Harry's my favorite best mate," Arlo says, and Nick goggles at both of them. _How?_ he mouths, and Harry winks at him. 

"Well, lovely," Mairead says, sounding a bit flustered. Harry tends to have that effect on people. "Grim, want to, uh, get a cup of tea… in the kitchen?" 

"Sure," Nick says, rolling his eyes, and Mairead drags him off. 

"So," she says in a hushed voice, flicking the kettle on. Nick can hear Arlo babbling on from the sitting room, so there's probably no need to be quiet, but oh well. "Harry Styles is in your flat. Sorry, what year is it?" 

"Shut up," Nick says, snorting, tossing her the box of P.G. Tips. 

"Are you, like- I thought he was on an island or something." 

"He's not anymore," Nick says. "As of three days ago. And he's, uh, he's going to stay in town for a while. Like, a long while." 

" _Is_ he?" Mairead says, and then her eyes go wide and she staggers back against the counter.

There it is. Nick continues making his tea, waits for it to sink in. 

"Oh my god," she says. "Oh my god. You didn't." 

Nick reaches for the sugar bowl. 

"He's not-" she starts again. "I- oh my god. Grim." 

"Do you take milk? I forget." 

"No," she says dazedly. "No milk. _Nick_. Harry bloody _Styles_?" 

Nick hands her the tea. 

"Yeah," he says. "Bit of a drunk accident. But, you know. We're working it out now." 

"Did you know?" she whispers. "Good god, Nick, he's like- a baby." 

"Yeah," Nick says, slowly, stirring his tea. "Well." 

"I mean, he's so lovely, like, that's - this is good, this is really- I just, I'm surprised, like, this is going to change everything, isn't it? Harry fucking Styles. Does anyone else know? Are you _sure_?" 

"I'm sure, yeah," Nick says, taking a sip of his tea. He feels weirdly Zen about this, the first one of his friends finding out since Harry got back to London. It's not going that well, but he still feels - resigned. Like. Whatever. The shit's about to hit the fan. Nick's gonna have to get a tougher skin. 

"Oh my god," Mairead says again, softly. "Harry Styles." 

"Stop bleeding saying it like that," Nick says, huffing a laugh. 

"Nick, you got knocked up by a popstar, give me a minute to process." 

Nick hears a cough, and they both turn to see Harry standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His face is entirely unreadable, but there's absolutely no way he didn't hear that. 

Nick looks down at his tea. Shit. Mairead's face is bright red.

"Arlo wanted to know if you had any of those chocolatey biscuits that're his favorite," Harry says. 

Nick opens the cupboard, yanks out the box. 

"Congratulations, love," Mairead says, to Harry. "Nick's spilled the beans a little bit. That's wonderful. I'm so, uh, I'm so happy for you both." 

Harry smiles sweetly, distantly, and takes the biscuits from Nick's hand. "Thank you." 

"Only let him have two or he'll be an absolute terror," Mairead adds, and Harry nods, sticks a biscuit in his mouth and takes the box into the other room. 

Nick exhales once the door's closed, and Mairead looks at him wide-eyed. 

"Shit," she says. "Sorry." 

"It's alright. It's gonna happen, innit? Harry's all- gung-ho. Wants to move in together." 

"And how d'you feel about that?"  

Nick laughs sourly. "No fucking clue. Get back to you later." 

Mairead sighs quietly, and reaches up to kiss his cheek. 

"You'll figure it out," she says. "C'mon, let's go see how they're doing."

\---

Harry's lying on the rug with Arlo perched on his chest, sitting cross-legged, stuffing his face full of biscuits and spraying crumbs onto Harry's face as he talks about a dinosaur he saw at the Natural History Museum. 

"Arlo, get _off_ him," Mairead laughs. 

"It's fine," Harry says, voice a bit strained. 

"So it was a dinosaur. And it had big spiky things, like spikes. Big ones. On its head." 

"That's awesome," Harry says politely. "Maybe we could sit on the sofa now, what do you think?" 

"Arlo," Mairead says, exasperated, yanking him up under his armpits. "You can't sit on people, alright?" 

"Mummmyyy!" Arlo wails, but he calms down when Mairead slings him onto the sofa and Nick puts a biscuit in his chubby little hand. Tag-team effort. 

He chews it thoughtfully, pacified. Harry's picking himself up, brushing crumbs off his shirt. 

"Uncle Grimmy," Arlo says as he swallows. "How'd you get a baby in your tummy? I want one. I've only got a Power Ranger and I want a baby." 

Mairead snorts, grabbing a biscuit. "Well, Arlo, when a radio DJ and a popstar love each other very much-" 

"Can you stop," Nick says, hitting her. Harry's laughing, still sitting on the floor, his knees tucked up to his chest, looking up at them with bright eyes. 

"What! What's so funny, mummy!" Arlo demands, throwing himself into her lap as she laughs. 

"Nothing, nothing, love." 

"You've got to love someone very very much," Harry says, his voice deep and slow as always. "And then if you're lucky, you'll get to have a baby." 

"Yes, that's it, thank you, Harry," Mairead says, shaking out Arlo's shirt and getting crumbs all over Nick's carpet. Pig swoops in to clean them up. 

Nick can't look at Harry. His heart's beating fast. What the hell is that supposed to mean? 

"And a disgusting amount of alcohol and no good sense, that helps," Nick adds, lightly, though the words feel mean as soon as they leave his mouth. Harry looks down at his knees, hair falling over his face. Nick watches his mouth fold into an unhappy pout.

"What's alka-hall?" Arlo asks. 

"Nothing, Arlo," Mairead says. She reaches out to poke Nick's thigh reprovingly. "It's, uh, grown-up juice." 

"I want it." 

"You can have some when you're older." 

"How old?" 

"Eighteen."

Arlo moans long-sufferingly. "But I'm only _four_." 

"Getting close," Nick says, forcing a little laugh. "Just a few years to go. And if you're anything like your mum, you'll get started early-" 

"Oh shut up," Mairead snorts, and Harry looks up, smiles weakly at Nick.

"Fancy coming up onto the sofa, popstar? Not that the floor doesn't look comfortable." There's something like guilt squeezing Nick's chest. It's true that their kid is mostly a product of vodka and not heartfelt declarations of love, but that doesn't mean Nick's got to be a dick about it. 

Harry shrugs, unfolds himself from the floor, and squeezes in next to Nick. His warm thigh presses against Nick's, and Arlo immediately climbs onto his lap. 

Harry laughs, a hand moving up to cup Arlo's back so he won't fall. 

"Shall we watch telly?" Nick asks. It's doing his head in to watch Harry with a kid, and he needs something to distract himself. 

"Yeah!" Arlo cheers, snuggling in against Harry's neck and pulling at his ear with one hand. "I want to watch Corrie." 

Harry laughs deep in his chest, and Nick grins at him over Arlo's head. 

"You're embarrassing me, little lion," Mairead says, chewing another biscuit. "We don't watch Corrie, do we?" 

"Yeah we do!" Arlo says eagerly. "Every day." 

"Jesus, Mairead." 

"We _do not_ ," Mairead laughs. 

Arlo raises his eyebrows doubtfully, and Nick giggles at him. He's got such an attitude already. 

"C'mere, you monster," Mairead says, grabbing for Arlo. Arlo squeals and hangs onto Harry's neck. Harry chokes very dramatically, all bulging eyes and tongue hanging out his mouth, until Arlo lets go and falls backward onto Mairead's lap, wriggling like a fish. 

"You," she says, lifting him up and kissing his chubby cheeks. "Are an absolute madman. And we do _not_ watch Corrie that often." 

Arlo kisses her smack on the lips, and then sinks down in Mairead's lap. 

"Mummy, turn the telly on please," he says. 

Mairead looks over at Nick, and Nick huffs out a laugh and fumbles for the remote. 

\---

Mairead leaves around five. Not that Nick really notices, since he's asleep on the sofa, propped up with three pillows and a blanket over him, he's not sure from where. 

"See you soon, love," Mairead whispers to him, brushing a kiss against his cheek. "Shh-sh, don't wake up, it's alright." 

Nick grumbles in his throat. 

"Good night, Uncle Grimmy," Arlo says sweetly, wrapping both his arms around one of Nick's and squeezing. 

"Night, little lion," Nick mumbles, and he falls back asleep as the door shuts. 

He wakes up slowly. The flat's warm and dark, a light glowing from the kitchen, and it smells of- 

Nicks inhales deeply. Christ, that smells good. Like onions, butter, something sweet and rich. He can hear music playing softly. 

"Harry?" he calls. 

Nothing. 

"Harry!" he yells. 

The music stops abruptly. 

"Yeah?" Harry calls. 

"What're you doing?" 

"Ummm, making tea?" Harry says, footsteps padding out of the kitchen. He stands over Nick, peering at him. Nick blinks. Harry has a wooden spoon in one hand. 

"You're making tea?" Nick asks. 

"Risotto," Harry says, looking a bit sheepish. "If you want it." 

"If I- yes, obviously, I want it. When have I ever turned down a carb?" 

Harry's mouth tugs up at the corner. 

"It'll be a little bit," he says.

"Wait, I don't, like- I don't have any fancy things in my flat." 

"Got rice and onions and butter," Harry says, shrugging. "And wine." 

Nick grumbles. "Can't have wine." 

"The alcohol cooks away," Harry says, looking strangely fond. "Go back to sleep, I'll tell you when it's ready." 

He turns back into the kitchen, and Nick stares at the dark telly until he slides back down into sleep. 

\---

"Can I just ask you something?" Harry says, when they're sprawled on the sofa after dinner, watching Bakeoff. Nick can feel Harry's eyes on the side of his face. Harry mutes the telly, and Nick sighs, turns to him. 

"What?" 

"You know how you didn't-" Harry stops. His eyes are fierce. "I- just. Did you not tell me cos you didn't think I'd stay?" 

His voice breaks at the end, and Nick's stomach feels queasy with guilt. 

"No," Nick says, quietly. "That's not why I- Christ, Harry, that's not why I didn't tell you." 

"Kay." Harry looks away, looks back at the telly, blinking rapidly. 

"Haz-" 

"Okay, I said," Harry says, low. 

"Just - fucking hell. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to ruin your-" 

"Why do you keep saying that?" Harry says, surprisingly angry, his eyes flashing at Nick's. "Like it'd ruin my life to have a baby with someone I love? Like that's not a thing I _want_?" 

Nick looks away, very carefully. He feels full-on queasy now. 

"Love?" he says, and Harry huffs out an irritated-sounding breath. 

"Yeah, love, Grim. It's alright if you don't feel the same, but yeah." 

"You don't love me," Nick says, shakily, because if there's one thing he knows, it's that. "Just coz I'm - you know. Just coz you knocked me up. You don't love me." 

"Oh _god_ , Nick, don't be an idiot." Harry sounds like he's on the verge of a sob. "I've bloody loved you since I was seventeen years old. You're one of my favorite bloody people on this planet." 

"This doesn't mean-" Nick says, gesturing at his stomach. 

"- I know it doesn't. I know that. That's not what I'm saying." 

"You don't have to say that. I'll still let you see her. You can still be her dad." He lets out a rough breath. "You really don't have to say that."

"Nick," Harry says thickly. 

"No, like, let's just not - do this," Nick says, letting out a strangled laugh. "Listen. I've got a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. Do you want to come?" 

Harry blinks at him. 

"We can, we can, like, talk more. After." Nick knows he sounds desperate. He just hates this. He hates watching Harry try to lie. He hates watching Harry try to fix Nick's fuck-up. 

"When? Tuesday? What time?" 

"Yeah. Three PM. Portland Hospital, in West End." 

Harry nods, slowly. "Tuesday," he says. 

"I'm going straight from work. You, uh, we can meet there, yeah?" 

Harry nods again. He sticks his fingernail in his mouth to gnaw at. 

"Tuesday," he repeats. "I'll be there." 

"Good," Nick says awkwardly. 

Harry lets out a breath, and turns the volume up. 

\---

Harry’s ten minutes late to the appointment, which is fair. They had to go separately, and generally being Harry Styles usually involves being late for things. Autographs and photos and what-not. People wanting to take up your time. 

Nick’s chatting with Dr. Sani when a nurse knocks on the door. 

“A Mr. Styles is here?” she says, with that dazed look in her eye that means Harry’s already got her completely charmed. 

“Ah, yeah, I- forgot to say,” Nick says, nervously. “He can come back.” 

“Friend of yours?” Dr. Sani asks, absently, peering at her clipboard. “Staying for the ultrasound?” 

“Yeah,” Nick says cagily. “Yeah, I-” 

“There you are, Mr. Styles,” the nurse says, voice cracking a little as she opens the door.

“Thank you so much,” Harry says, smiling at her, and he steps inside. He’s dressed in something hilariously inappropriate for a medical facility- skin-tight jeans and a floral-patterned shirt unbuttoned halfway down his tan chest, leather jacket on, silk scarf round his neck. Nick tries not to feel so fond.

Dr. Sani doesn’t blink. She’s probably used to it by now. Aimee showed up for one of his appointments in a giant purple faux-fur stole, four-inch stilettos, and bright pink hair. There's really no surprises with his people, anymore. 

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Styles," Dr. Sani says, politely, reaching up to shake Harry's hand. Her poker face is incredible. Nick’s got no clue if she knows who she’s introducing herself to or if she just doesn't care.

"Call me Harry, please, thanks," Harry says, taking a seat next to Nick, long legs spreading wide. His fingers twist nervously on the thigh of his jeans, and Nick averts his eyes, feeling strangely intrusive. 

"Harry, then. I'm Dr. Sani, I'm Nick's obstetrician." 

Harry nods, knee jiggling. 

"Now you haven't been to an appointment with Nick before, have you?" Dr. Sani asks. "He's always got quite the crowd coming in and out, I might've missed you-" 

Harry coughs, into his elbow, shakes his head. 

"No, I haven't," he says. "I've been, um, I've been away. But, yeah."

This is all a bit ridiculous. Nick bites the bullet, says, "He's the dad. Of - the baby, I mean. So that's why he's here." 

Oh god. The sentence hangs heavy in the air, all awkward and too blunt. Nick goes red, ducks his head. 

"Oh," Dr. Sani says, sounding unruffled. "Lovely. Well, congratulations, Mr. Sty- Harry." 

"Thank you," Harry says, voice inscrutable. Nick doesn't dare look at him. 

"I can fill you - uh, fill you in on what we've been doing for the last few months. Planning for Nick's delivery. If you'd - I mean, if you'll be-" 

"Yeah, please," Harry says roughly. "Everything, like. I'd like to know everything, please." 

He sounds scared. Nick's chest clenches, and he inches his hand over towards Harry's where it's resting on his thigh. 

Before he can take it, though, Harry lifts his hand, runs his fingers through his hair. 

Nick takes his hand away, flushing again. Christ, Grimshaw. Get it together. 

"Fantastic," Dr. Sani says crisply, and she launches into the birth plan, pulling up Nick's file on the computer and rambling knowledgeably about things Nick really doesn't want to think about quite yet. Nick tunes her out, a bit. Chews his fingernails and tries not to think about Harry not wanting this. Harry sitting here and feeling dread sink in his stomach, wishing he was back in fucking paradise with no impending parenthood to worry about.

He draws in a wobbly breath, and feels a hand on his thigh. 

"Alright?" Harry says, quietly. 

"Fine, yeah," Nick mumbles. Harry takes his hand away. "Sorry. Go on." 

Dr. Sani starts in again. Nick doesn't tune back in until she starts complimenting him. 

"Yeah?" Harry's saying, listening wide-eyed, entirely attentive.

"Yes, Nick's been doing wonderfully," Dr. Sani says. "Haven't you, Nick?" 

"Umm," Nick says guiltily. "Yes?" 

Harry snorts softly. 

"He's been taking such good care of himself and the baby." Dr. Sani smiles at him, warmly, something sort of steely and fierce in her face, like Harry might be the one listening to her but Nick's the one she really cares about. "Following every order. Even the hard ones." 

"I miss sushi," Nick says mournfully. 

Harry laughs again, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "Good, that's good."

"He's very strong, you know," Dr. Sani says, looking at Harry through her glasses. "He's done really well these past months. It hasn't always been easy."

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, quietly. His knee knocks against Nick's.

"Go on, go on," Nick says, waving at her. "Strong, handsome, rugged, of course, what else have you got to say, Dr. Sani? I'm in need of flattery." 

Dr. Sani laughs. "I wouldn't want to swell your head, Nick. Should we get you in for that ultrasound?" 

Harry tenses up next to him, lets out a shuddery breath. 

"Yeah, let's." 

"Yeah," Harry adds, hoarsely. 

\---

Harry cries, of course. 

For a minute it's so like Nick's stupid, awful dreams of Harry knowing that Nick shuts his eyes, opens them again. Just to check that it's real. 

But it is, it really is. Harry's at his side, watching the screen as the nurse technician slides the transducer over Nick's belly, and - helplessly, like he doesn't even notice, tears are sliding down his cheeks. He's staring, big-eyed, hands clenched in his lap.

"Don't look so tragic," Nick says, meanly, as Harry lifts one hand to scrub the wet off his face. 

"I'm not-" Harry chokes out, looking at him, all watery. "I'm not- sad. God. God, Nick." 

The technician gives Nick the slightest disapproving look. Nick's never seen her before, but he can just tell she's a One Direction fan. You can see it in their faces. 

"If you'll look there, Mr. Styles, you can see the baby's leg," she says to Harry, moving the wand to the left on Nick's stomach. "Can you see that?" 

Nick stares at the screen. _He_ can see it, because he's looked at it before. He's been here every bloody time watching her take shape. Her weird little legs and the shape of her body, still shadowy enough to be a mystery. 

"Look at her head," Harry says, his voice trembling. "Look at her head, Nick. It's massive, god, it's perfect. Look at that." 

"Don't say it's massive, I'm already terrified enough," Nick says, huffing out a breath. 

Harry laughs too, bites his lip as he stares at the small screen. 

"Jesus," he says, hushed. "She's so perfect, Nick." 

Nick inhales slowly, nearly choking when Harry slips his hand into Nick's, squeezes. 

He's looking at Nick, now, not the baby. 

Nick goes red. "Haz-" 

"No, just- let me. I just need a minute," Harry says, swallowing audibly. His eyes are swollen. "I'm still, like. I still don't get how this is real." 

He squeezes Nick's hand again, drops his head and exhales loudly. 

"Haz," Nick repeats, face hot. 

Harry exhales again, and lifts his head to blink at Nick. 

"Sorry," he says, mouth wobbly. "It's just - god. I'm so happy." 

Nick tenses up with surprise. He doesn't know what to say to that. Thanks? You shouldn't be? 

"Alright," he says, and winces. The nurse rolls her eyes. 

But Harry doesn't notice. He lifts Nick's hand to his mouth, presses his lips against the back of it, over Nick's knuckles. 

"Jesus," he says, reverently. "This is really happening." 

"Yeah." 

"It's just - fucking hell. Uh, sorry," he says to the nurse, sheepishly. 

"It's alright," she says sweetly. "Heard worse. Especially from him." 

Nick glares at her.

"Yeah, I bet you have," Harry says, sounding soft and fond. He pulls Nick's hand closer to him, kisses it again. "Alright. I'm - I'm alright. Keep going, like, point out her leg again, please. I missed it." 

\---

Nick's attempting to zip his jacket over the bulk of his belly when he runs straight into Harry's back on their way out. 

"Hey!" he says indignantly, and then, suddenly breathless, "Oh, shit." 

There's a mob outside. Faces pressed against the glass, people waiting on the pavement, packed together like sardines. When they see Harry, a cheer rises up, ear-splitting even through the windows.

"Fuck," Harry says, backing away, taking Nick's hand and tugging him into an empty office. "Fuck. How did they-" 

Nick's not got much of an issue with claustrophobia - he's been in enough jam-packed airless clubs to know that - but right now he's breathing hard and his chest feels tight. He draws in a shaky breath, smooths his hands down over his stomach, nearly jumps when a nurse pokes her head into the door.

She looks anxious. "Mr. Styles, Mr. Grimshaw-"

"I'm calling a car and security," Harry says tightly, looking up at her. "If any of you can help clear a path when they arrive, that'd be helpful. And if you could keep people out of this area." 

"Of course, sir. I'm so sorry, I don't know how this happened, we have a very strict policy with our more high-profile patients -" 

"Excuse me," Harry says, his voice clipped, before he turns away. The nurse looks stricken, but she ducks out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Harry," Nick says. "Listen, like. I'll just- I'll go out to my car, and you - you follow later, once you've called your security.That'll work." 

"You're not going out into that alone," Harry mutters, stabbing at his phone, a dark expression on his face. 

"It's not me they're here for, Haz, it'll be fine." 

"There's absolutely _no_  fucking way you're going by yourself," Harry says, still not looking at him. 

Nick rolls his eyes. Part of him wants to be angry and part of him wants to curl up in Harry's lap and have Harry protect him always. Ugh. His brain is a mess.

"Harry-"

"Grim," Harry says, low. "I'm not gonna argue this with you. I'm-"

He breaks off as his phone rings. "Yeah. Yes, this is him. Yeah. Portland Hospital. The, uh, patient entrance at the back. Ten minutes? Thank you. Alright." 

He hangs up. "Car'll be here in ten." 

"I don't want to leave my car, Harry." 

"We'll send someone to fetch it later." 

"Harry, I can just go, alright, I'm not the bloody popstar and I'm about eleven months pregnant, they'll get out of my way." 

"What if they don't, though?" Harry asks, looking up at him suddenly, eyes fierce. "What if they knock you over or scream at you or you get hurt? Because I can't bloody have that happen, I can't, and I know you wish it weren't me, cos of how people do this sort of shit, but just- let me at least keep you fucking safe, alright? Let me do that at _least_." 

His voice cracks, and he bites his lip hard. 

"I'm sorry, alright?" he chokes out. "I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to say sorry for being a fucking popstar," Nick says, watching Harry's face, his watery eyes. "I've always known the deal. It's nothing new."

"Nothing new?" Harry asks, softly, sniffing in hard. "Nothing bloody new? She's new, Nick." 

"That's not what I meant-" 

"It's what I mean, though." Harry puts his face to Nick's shoulder and his hand on Nick's stomach, takes a deep inhale like he's trying to breathe them both in. "I - I love you, and I love her, and m'not gonna let you get hurt." 

Nick has no clue what to say to that. Bit depressing, that he's so inexperienced with straightforward declarations of love. Sarcastic asides that are secretly fond are much more his forte.

He knows how to touch Harry, though. He's always known that much.

He pushes Harry's head gently off his shoulder, wraps an arm around his neck, strokes down the back of his head with one hand. Harry burrows gratefully into him, his back heaving with unsteady breaths. 

"Shh, it's alright," he says quietly. "I'm fine. She's fine. You just saw her, she's having the time of her life playing fucking football in there." 

Harry chokes out a laugh, and Nick smiles, running his fingers through Harry's hair. 

"Didn't mean what I said, the other day," he says, quietly. "About me wishing she wasn't yours. Okay? I can't even imagine her being someone else's." 

Harry doesn't say anything, just inhales deep. Nick presses his fingers to the warmth of Harry's scalp, thinks about Harry's awestruck face, watching their daughter on the sonogram. 

"It wasn't because of you," Nick whispers. "That I didn't tell you. I promise. I'm just- I'm so shit at asking for favors. Big ones, I mean, not like, can you take the dog for a week or whatever. Whenever I thought about telling you I felt sick. Cos it's not what you signed up for, when we started shagging." 

"I don't care about-" Harry starts, lifting his head to stare at Nick, and Nick pushes him down again, gently. 

"I know, I know. But, like. It was always so fun with you, Hazza. We had so much fucking fun and we got drunk and fucked around and went out and it's like - it's like. This isn't _fun_. Or easy." 

"Can I ask you something?" Harry says, quietly, turning his head to lie his cheek against Nick's shoulder. 

"Yeah." 

Harry doesn't look at him. "Do you- do you love me?" 

Nick's hand tightens in Harry's hair. 

The answer to that has always been yes. An easy automatic yes, something Nick's never doubted. 

It's just that the next question is always, _does it matter_? 

And that one's harder.  

"Yeah," Nick says, swallowing. "That seems to be the case."

Harry nods. "You want me to be her dad?" 

Nick looks up at the ceiling. Exhales very slowly. 

"Yeah," he says, voice wobbly. Oh, that's strange to admit. He hasn't let _Harry_ and _dad_ come together in his head for fear of losing his bloody mind. "But - but I want you to want it." 

Harry looks at him, eyes dark. "I want it." 

"Harry-" 

"I want it, and you want it. I love you and you love me. You keep saying this is complicated, but I - I think it's simple, Nick, I think we want the same thing." 

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?" Harry breathes. 

"Because - because, it's just, it's not just-" 

Harry's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he drops his gaze, fumbles for it. Nick's breathing hard for some reason, a strange pressure in his abdomen. He flattens his palm against his stomach, steadying himself. 

"Yeah," Harry's saying into the phone. "Absolutely. Thanks. We'll head right out." 

He shoves it into his pocket again, and then puts his hand into Nick's.

"Car's here." 

"You don't have to-" Nick says weakly, lifting their hands. 

"Fuck it," Harry says, eyes flashing. "It's not going to be a secret, let's not act like it is." 

Nick looks down at their hands, not sure what to say. Stupid mad popstar. 

Harry squeezes his fingers after a moment. "Stay close to me, yeah?" 

\---

A guard meets them at the door. The crowd hasn't died down at all in the last ten minutes. It's gotten bigger. Maybe. Nick's trying not to look. 

"Mr. Styles, the car's right in front," the guard says. "About fifteen meters ahead. We're trying to clear a path." 

Harry's jaw sets. His hand's tight and warm against Nick's. 

"You can cover both of us?" he asks.

"Yes sir." 

Harry nods, and Nick swallows down a rush of nausea and follows him outside into the crowd.

It's overwhelming, after the cool dark of the room they hid in. It'd be overwhelming after a fucking Metallica concert. Nick keeps his head down and his hand in Harry's and doesn't listen to the screaming. 

"Please!" Harry's yelling, to a particularly eager girl who's thrown herself at his side. "Please, just- please, sorry, please-" 

It makes Nick's stomach hurt to hear him. 

"Nick, hiiii, Nick, c'mon, smile!" someone yells. "C'mon! Is Harry the father?" 

"Oh my fucking god," Nick hears, close, too close to his face. "Oh my fucking god they're holding hands-" 

"Please," Harry begs, voice cracking, tugging sharply at Nick's arm to lead him forward. "Let me by, please, thank you, yeah, thank you, sorry-" 

"Nearly there, Mr. Styles," the security guard at Nick's back says. "To your right." 

Nick feels a foreign hand against his side, fumbling for a handful of his jacket, and he jerks away, nearly stumbling into Harry and knocking them both over. 

"Don't  _touch me_!" he screams, to his mystery groper, and several people scream right back, making his head spin dizzily. Nick puts his head down and shuts his eyes and stumbles forward until he feels the edge of a car door and then Harry says, into his ear, "Here it is, love, go on, get in. It's alright, c'mon. Big step up, c'mon." 

The door shuts and locks behind them, and Nick leans over and throws up on the floor. It's completely unexpected, a purely physical reaction, and he chokes on it, breathless. 

"Oh shit," Harry says, shakily. "Oh god, Nick, are you alright?" 

Nick keeps his head down, breathing out slowly, listening to the muffled screams outside the car. There's vomit on his fucking shoes. Goddamnit. He enjoyed that sandwich, too. 

"Nick," Harry breathes, putting a hand on his back. He raises his voice. "Can we please try and get out of here?" 

"We're trying to clear the road, Mr. Styles." 

"Thank you," Harry says, voice thick. He leans over again. "Nick-" 

"I'm fine," Nick croaks. His eyes are streaming and his throat is on fire. "It's fine. Did anyone see that?"  

Harry reaches down for his hands, presses a water bottle against Nick's palm. 

"No one saw," he says, softly. "Windows are blacked-out. Here. Water." 

"Sorry about the car. Didn't mean to- to do that." 

"It's fine, Nick, god," Harry chokes out. "It's fine. It's not your fault. We'll get home, I promise, god, I'm so sorry, that was mental. Tell me if you need to be sick again, we'll stop, it's fine."

Nick's eyes are still watering. He keeps his head down, takes a tiny sip of water. The car's moving slowly out of the parking lot, and there are people outside, chasing them. Fucking chasing after a fucking car because there's a popstar inside. Nick doesn't understand people sometimes. 

"We're almost there, promise, we'll get there," Harry babbles, his knee jogging nervously. 

"I want to get the fuck home," Nick mumbles, wiping at his wet eyes.

"I know, I know, we're almost there." Harry puts his hand on Nick's back. "Almost there." 

Nick lifts his head gingerly. His nose burns and he's still crying and he hates this. He hates throwing up and he hates people pushing at him and he hates feeling bloody ill for no bloody reason. 

Harry gingerly hands him a crumpled receipt from Starbucks.  

"I don't have a tissue," he says helplessly.

Nick stares down at the piece of paper, and chokes out a wet laugh. 

"What?" Harry says, cautiously. 

"Just- you just gave me a fucking receipt."

"I don't have any-" 

"I know, I just," Nick laughs, wiping at his eyes with his hand. "What the fuck are we doing? We're having a kid and you just handed me a receipt to use as a tissue. We're _fucked_." 

He snorts into his palm. 

"You can't wipe a bloody baby's bum with a fucking _receipt_ ," he says, breathlessly. 

"I wasn't... planning on it?" Harry says bemusedly. Nick can't stop fucking laughing. He feels hysterical. 

"Are you _alright_?" 

"I'm fine!" Nick chokes, wiping his eyes again. "Just! A receipt!" 

Harry lets out an unsure laugh. 

"You just- like, it was just so, casual!" Nick gasps. "Like I was going to blow my bloody nose on a receipt!" 

"You're mental," Harry says, but his voice is wobbly like he's about to laugh. "You're fully mental. I've blown my nose on a receipt." 

"You never have!" Nick says, voice cracking. 

"Yes I have!" Harry laughs. "Here, fine, Grim, take my scarf. Too quiche for a receipt, I see how it is." 

He hands it over, and Nick looks down at the label and starts laughing again. 

"No, my god, this is Saint Laurent, this is _silk_ , I'm not blowing my nose on Saint Laurent-" 

"So the receipt's not good enough for you and the scarf is too posh?" Harry says, snorting with laughter. 

"You're an idiot," Nick says, voice bubbly with laughter.

"Ummm, I'm not the one who just had a laughing fit over a receipt."

Harry's smiling at him, soft and cautious.

"Nearly home," he adds. "Fancy opening a window?" 

"Excuse me, are you insulting the smell of my sick?" Nick laughs, as he rolls down the window. They're moving quick enough now that he's not scared of some screaming fan throwing themselves into the car. 

"Never," Harry says solemnly. 

"Good." Nick gulps in a breath of fresh air, lets it out slowly. "Jesus. I haven't been sick in ages." 

"Sorry." 

"Not your fault, is it," Nick says, shutting his eyes. "Part of the gig." 

It's weird to say that. It hasn't been a _thing_ for so long, with Harry being away, with One Direction splintering and hiding away in different corners of the world. But of course Nick remembers the madness, the furor of it. The way people absolutely lose it. The two of them spilling drunkenly out of clubs into a mob of people, all of them pressing in, screaming, crying. Harry grabbing his hand, keeping his head down, his fingers trembling against Nick's even as he smiles, cuts expertly through the crowd. Tumbling into the cool backseat of a waiting car, both of them breathing fast from adrenaline. Hands smacking loud against the car windows, like the zombie apocalypse or summat. Nick remembers all that. 

Nick never minded it. Well- he did. He did. Of course he did. But it was worth it, because Harry was one of the best people Nick had ever known. Harry needed someone who could deal with it, and Nick filled that role happily. Threw himself into the fire with no hesitation. 

Nick exhales, rearranging his quiff as the wind fucks it up. 

"Grim?" 

Nick rolls the window up. 

"Yeah?" 

"I- uh. What we talked about, in- in the hospital." 

Nick faces him head-on. His mouth tastes like sick and his head is throbbing but for some reason he's not scared. The open window's given him an epiphany, apparently. See, he's _done this already_. In the height of Harry's career. He's been screamed at and called nasty names and slandered in the papers.  

He handled it before, because Harry was there. Maybe only three months out of the year, maybe only for two days at a time, but he was _there_. 

And now he's here for good. 

Christ, Nick can take whatever. Anything. 

"Yeah?" he says, watching Harry, the nervous twist of his mouth, his earnest expression. When he met Harry he was a mop-haired seventeen year old with a cheeky smile and poorly-cut trousers and Nick thought to himself, _that one's gonna break hearts_. 

Maybe it doesn't have to be Nick's. What a novel thought. 

"What - what we were talking about-" 

"Being together," Nick interrupts.  

"Yeah. I- I know it's not- I know what it's like to be my mate. Or my - whatever. I'm not, you know, stupid. I know it's hard." 

"Oh Christ, Styles," Nick says, laughing. He's so fond all of a sudden. "Get over yourself." 

Harry's brow furrows, confused. 

"I - I want it," Nick says. "You. If you're still offering. The full Harry Styles package. No wait, the deluxe version, with added fatherhood." He snorts at his own joke.

Harry makes an even more perplexed face. Nick laughs again, breath hitching. Harry looks like a baby hedgehog when he does that. 

"Are you - taking the mick?" 

"No," Nick says, voice giddy. "No. Sorry. You just have a ridiculous face." 

"But you said - you said you didn't-" 

"Haz," Nick says. "If you haven't figured out that I'm an idiot sometimes, I dunno what to tell you." 

"You're not an - wait. God. I'm so, like, lost right now." 

"I thought it was simple, Styles. I love you, you love me, I want this, you want this, or whatever shite you were saying back there. I'm telling you I want this." 

Harry bites his lip, and studies Nick's face for a long moment. Nick lets him. 

"I might be shit at it," Nick says, when it seems like Harry's gotten his fill. "Never done this. Not used to you sticking around for more than three minutes. Might fuck it all up." 

Harry shakes his head slowly. 

"You don't know how annoying I am," Nick says warningly. 

Harry's mouth twitches up. "Yes I do." 

"Oh - fuck off. I'm serious. This bloke I was with once said he'd pay me to shut up." 

"What a fucking arsehole," Harry says, eyes narrowing. "Who was that?" 

"What, you going to go rough him up? He's well hard, Haz. Bodybuilder type. Which actually was sort of the problem. We had different opinions on potatoes. As in, I believed that humans should eat them and he did not." 

Harry laughs. "That's a dealbreaker." 

"Innit." 

They smile at each other for a minute. Nick's riding on that feeling of making Harry laugh. He forgot how much he liked that. 

"You're serious?" Harry says softly. 

"I'm serious. I feel all weird. I dunno why I can't stop laughing. But I'm serious." 

Harry touches his hand, lying on the seat between them. 

"I'm in love with you," he says, looking down at their hands. "Just, like, so you know." 

Nick moves his hand, laces his fingers together with Harry's, knocking against his rings, his blunt short fingernails, the cross tattooed on his hand. 

He still wants to laugh. There's this weird hot feeling in his throat. They're doing this all wrong, out of order. 

"Me too," he says, leaning his head against the seat back. "I mean. You, I mean. Not in love with myself. Oh god, I can't speak." 

Harry grins at him. "It's alright." 

"No one's ever professed their love to me before," Nick says with a sigh. "I'm new at this." 

"That's such bullshit," Harry says. "People do all the bloody time. I did, once, when I was nineteen. You didn't speak for like five minutes and then you said, 'I could go for some McDonald's' and we never talked about it again." 

Nick goes red, letting go of Harry's hand. "Oh god." 

Harry's laughing. "Or what about Stephen? You called me in a panic from the toilet cos he'd said 'I love you' and you responded- you responded-" 

He chokes on his own breath cos he's laughing so hard. Nick rolls his eyes. 

"You said-" 

"Harry." 

"- you said - _lads_."  Harry collapses, making an embarrassing snort sound like a pig. Disgusting, that. Nick doesn't fancy him at all anymore. "Lads!" 

"You- shut up. That was a long time ago. I was drunk. And we'd only been dating for like a month, it was so uncalled for-" 

" _Lads_ ," Harry chokes out. 

"Shut _up_ ," Nick repeats, shoving Harry's arm, trying not to laugh. "We actually broke up after that, so don't bloody laugh." 

Harry tries to compose himself, letting out a breath and wiping at his eyes. "Sorry. Sorry." 

"You are not." 

"I'm not, really," Harry says readily, giving Nick a slow shameless grin. "I'm not." 

Nick fumbles for Harry's hand. He's not really either.


	4. Chapter 4

**10.1.2018 BABY FEVER: HARRY STYLES AND GRIMMY SPOTTED HAND-IN-HAND IN HOSPY**

_If you were a One Direction fan (is it too soon to use the past tense?) you've probably been following the saga of our dearest Harold Styles. The boy escaped to a tropical island to avoid the drama about eight months ago, but our Harry Styles office shrine has WORKED, y'all, because the Haz is back on British soil._

_We've seen photos of him at the airport looking tan, photos of him partying with Ed Sheeran looking, well, a little worse for the wear, and next on Harry's to-do list after being gone for an eternity? Tending to a pregnant person, of course. SHOCKER. Hazza was photographed leaving posho Portland Hospital on Tuesday with his oldest friend, Nick Grimshaw, who is about one second away from popping out a baby girl (well, five weeks, but who's counting?)._

_Someone must have tipped off the masses via Twitter, because there was quite the crowd to greet Haz and Grimmy as they left the appointment. In a move that made us totally swoon, Harry kept a hand on Grimmy the whole time, escorting him SAFELY and SOUNDLY past the screaming masses. D'aww!_

_Several tweeps reported that the pair was HOLDING HANDS as they made their way out to Hazza's fancy black Range Rover. We at Sugarscape have always loved a bit of Gryles, but this time we actually might combust. No clear photos have surfaced yet, but we're waiting on the edge of our seats._

_Of course, a little hand-holding doesn't mean much - all the lads are doing it these days, right? - but it's still enough to get us talking. Harry's been rumored to be the father of Grimmy's mystery sprog, and something feels a little coincidental about this whole event…_

_What do you think? A friendly safety measure to get his best mate through the crowd, or is our Hazza about to be a father? The latter might actually kill us. Leave your predictions in the comments below…_

\---

Harry comes out from his shower that night all pink-cheeked and drowsy, his mouth soft and his limbs loose. He's so bloody gorgeous for a second Nick just _stares_. 

"What?" Harry says, laughing a little, scrubbing his towel over his hair. His tan is still lingering from his island retreat and his dick hangs heavy and soft between his legs. 

"Did you just have a wank in there?" Nick asks. Harry shows it when he's gotten off, in the slouch of his shoulders and the satisfaction on his face. Nick could always tell. 

Harry blushes a little bit. "Uhh, yeah, s'that alright? I cleaned up after myself." 

"It's fine," Nick says after a moment. He sticks his book in front of his face, aimlessly reads a sentence over and over. 

"You know, Sadie and Mairead shagged constantly when they were pregnant," he says, without looking up from his book. 

There's a silence, and Nick carefully peeks over the top of his book. 

Harry's standing there in his briefs, looking nonplussed. 

"I didn't think you, like, wanted that," he says.  

"I'm not saying I do. Was just a fact." 

"Oh just a fact my bloody arse," Harry says, shaking his head, huffing a laugh. "Grim." 

"I was just saying!" 

" _Grim_." Harry crawls onto the bed, quietly lowers the book from Nick's hands, tosses it on the floor. Nick glares at him. "If you wanted to try having sex with me, I would really, really bloody like that. Like I'd really fancy it." 

"Don't be stupid," Nick says, feeling his face go hot. "You don't have to do that." 

"Don't _have_ to?" Harry says, brow furrowing. "I mean, obviously I don't have to. I want to."  

"You can't - want-" Nick stammers. "Haz, I know I'm like, bloody awful looking at the moment. I know that. Got more chins than I did when I was sixteen-" 

"Stop it," Harry says, seriously. 

"Everything's all, like, swollen and weird-looking," Nick says, forcing a laugh. "You don't have to get yourself off in the shower, you can - you can shag someone else if you like, I won't mind. Long as they’re discreet. Be a bit embarrassing to be immediately cuckolded." 

" _Stop_ it," Harry repeats, looking angry now. "There's no one in this entire fucking world I want to have sex with except you." 

"Not even Rihanna?" 

Harry laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. 

"Maybe Rihanna," he concedes. "But she's in America probably, and you're right here, so, convenience." 

He grins at Nick, dimple flashing. 

"I'm just- you don't, you don't have to-" 

"I know," Harry says, softly, the smile gone from his face. "That I don't have to. I'm not a teenage boy, Nick. I'm twenty-three, and you're the father of my kid, and that's sexy to me, that turns me on." 

Nick wrinkles his nose. 

"Not like _that_ ," Harry says, flopping down onto his side with a _whump_ , facing Nick. "I mean, I've never felt closer to anyone, Grim, cos she's mine and we did that together, you know?" 

He reaches out, rests his fingertips against Nick's stomach over the t-shirt, and Nick thinks unwillingly of Mairead grinning, saying _knowing he's the one who knocked you up, y'know, it's just-_

Nick swallows, licks his lips, and Harry's eyes flicker. 

"Can I kiss you now?" he says, low. 

"Yeah," Nick rasps out. 

It's soft, Harry's lips gentle against his, his mouth tasting of toothpaste. God, it feels good. It feels so good to be kissed. Nick hasn't been kissed in so long, and the taste of it, the feel of it, Harry's fingers pressed against his jaw - it all hits Nick hard. 

Harry pulls away after a long minute. Nick opens his eyes, slowly.

"Can I - try, like, something?" Harry says, biting his full bottom lip. 

"What's something," Nick says dazedly.

"Just- touching you," Harry murmurs

Nick tenses up instinctively. 

"I might not come," he says, reluctantly. "It's been on and off. Hormones or whatever. Dr. Sani says it's normal." 

"Doesn't have to be about coming." Harry's eyes are steady.

"And, like, just- just. Shut your eyes or summat. Everything just - looks. Weird." 

Harry strokes his cheek again. 

"How 'bout _you_ shut your eyes," he says, very softly. "Just shut your eyes, alright? And don't think about how you think you look. Just think about how I make you feel." 

"That's very annoying, popstar." 

"Yeah, yeah, shush," Harry says, biting his lip in a smile. "Close your eyes. Wait, take your shirt off first." 

"My shirt!" Nick yelps. "Why d'you need me to take my shirt off?" 

"Nick." 

"Harold." 

Harry huffs an impatient breath. "Grim, how can I bloody touch you if you've got your shirt on." 

Nick prods his own belly with two fingers. "Look! Easy!" 

Harry sighs again, and then says, "Go on your back. If - if it's comfortable."

Nick rolls onto his back, immediately flushes hot. It's worse like this, with his belly in the air, huge and - just, _huge_.

"Can't stay like this for long," he says, fumbling for a pillow. "Doctor's orders." 

Harry straddles his thighs. "Alright." 

Nick grabs another pillow, sticks it under his head.

"Close your eyes," Harry reminds him, looking up at Nick with his eyes very green. 

Nick swallows hard, and closes his eyes. 

The first thing Harry does is take Nick's hand in his own, softly press a kiss against Nick's palm. Then his mouth slides up Nick's wrist, the soft inside of his arm, and unbidden, Nick shudders. 

Harry picks up Nick's other hand and repeats his motions, and just when Nick's shivering happily into it, Harry puts one hand on Nick's stomach, moves it slowly under his shirt. 

"Harry," Nick says, thickly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. They're burning like he's going to cry. Which he's absolutely _not_. 

"Shh," Harry says, low. "Just keep your eyes closed. It's alright." 

He ducks his head, and then his mouth is against Nick's belly. 

" _Harry_ ," Nick says, when Harry kisses him there. His voice is wobbly and small. "Harry, you don’t have to-" 

"It's alright, I want to," Harry says steadily. "It's alright." 

He pushes Nick's shirt up further, carefully slips it off one of Nick's arms, then the other, and Nick lifts his neck so Harry can tug it off. Nick's bare, then, exposed in a way he hasn't been in _months_ , and Harry's just- looking at him. Harry can see all of him.

Nick clenches his eyes shut as tight as he can, terrified. 

"So lovely," Harry breathes, his hand sliding up and over Nick's stomach, to the soft flesh around his nipple, sensitive and tingling. "You're so, like, beautiful like this, Grim. I can't tell you." 

Nick opens his eyes and Harry's gone all blurry around the edges because, stupidly, Nick's crying. So stupid. Harry's hand is on his chest, and Nick's crying, because it doesn't even feel like this is his bloody body. He doesn't know whose it is. 

"Nick," Harry says, worried, and Nick turns his face to the side, gasps out a dry sob. 

"Sorry," he says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. "Hormones." 

"Nick-" 

"It's fine," Nick chokes out. "I'm fine." 

Harry lets go of him. 

"Is it me?" he asks, and Nick sobs out a laugh. 

"No. It's not you. I promise. My head's fucked up." 

Harry bites his lip, and Nick pushes at his thighs, rolls over onto his side and fumbles blindly for his shirt. Harry hands it to him helpfully. 

"I didn't mean to, like-" 

"It's fine, Harry," Nick says, face red. He tugs the t-shirt on, pulls it down over the bulk of his belly. "I'm just all weird in the head." 

"You're not weird." Harry sounds solemn. "I'm sure it's normal to- to feel like that-"

"Can we- can we just go to bed? I'm sorry." 

"Don't say you're sorry, c'mon." 

Nick looks at him. Harry's kneeling on the bed, puppy-eyed. 

"Don't have to say you're sorry," he repeats, watching Nick. 

Nick looks at him. God. Five days ago Harry wasn't _here_. And now he's in Nick's bed, in his life. 

Forever. Holy shit, Harry says he's here forever. 

Nick lets out a wobbly breath. It's a bit like getting everything he's ever wanted all at once, with no warning. It's freaking him out. 

"Alright," he says. "Umm. I'm going to brush my teeth." 

Harry nods slowly, and Nick leaves him on the bed, staring into space.

\---

Nick wakes up to sun shooting through his half-closed curtains and Harry's hard dick pressing against his arse. 

Well. He scoots forward as far as he can, to give Harry a bit of space, and Harry grunts sleepily in his throat, pulls Nick back with a hand spread wide on his belly. 

Nick swallows hard. Harry's been so careful with him since he got back - the delicate touches and kisses last night, helping Nick up the stairs everywhere they go like he's a pensioner - Nick forgot that Harry, well. Wants things. 

That Harry wants _him_. Or used to, at least. 

Nick shivers a bit, thinking about the way Harry used to want him. In the hushed dark of the mornings before the show, Nick on all fours, knees slipping on his sheets, a slow shameless fuck. Harry groaning and nuzzling the back of Nick's neck. The way Harry dug his fingers in when he came until Nick was choking on his own breath, moaning into a pillow. 

Going to work feeling open and hazy and dirty and not being able to shake it off until the second link, at _least_.

Nick grins to himself, and Harry mumbles again, moving forward. 

He stops suddenly. 

"Nick?" he says, unsure, voice thick with sleep. "Oh, shit, sorry-" 

Nick looks back over his shoulder as Harry pulls away, putting his hand over his prick. He's leaking from where he's been grinding slowly against Nick's backside, and he looks squinty and confused at the slick on his hand. 

"It's alright," Nick says, staring at Harry's cock. He doesn't know what the difference is between now and last night, but he can't stop looking. He is… fully interested. Good job, brain. 

"Sorry," Harry mutters, still half-asleep. 

"Good dream?" Nick asks, voice choked with laughter. 

Harry flushes and lifts his hand to cover his face. His nose wrinkles when he gets pre-come on his cheek, and Nick cracks up. 

"You're such an idiot." 

Harry wipes his face on Nick's sheets. 

"Sorry," he says again. "I'm, um. I didn't mean to-" 

"It's fine." Nick grabs at the mattress and heaves himself over til he's on his side facing Harry. "It's fine. You can, uh, get yourself off if you like."

Harry blinks at him confusedly. "It's not a big deal." 

"Go on," Nick says, low. He checks the time on the clock behind Harry's head - 5:04 AM. "Get yourself off, Haz." 

Harry's eyes widen. 

"Oh, like - you-" 

"Give us a show, c'mon," Nick says, tugging his pillow under his head. "Make it quick, though, I've got work in a minute." 

Harry laughs sheepishly. "Nick..." 

"Don't keep me bloody waiting, Styles." Nick reaches out and pinches Harry's nipple, watching in fascination as he shivers. He forgot that, how Harry likes a bit of pain. He forgot a lot of things Harry likes. 

Harry bites his bottom lip, and slides his hand down his torso. 

"Should I go on my back?" he asks gamely. "So you can see better?" 

"God, you're clever. Go on." 

Harry smiles at him, and rolls onto his back, legs spreading. Fuck, he's nice to look at, all splayed out in Nick's bed, tattoos and long legs and his flushed cock in the middle of it all like a centerpiece.

Nick feels his mouth flood with saliva, and he lets out a wobbly breath, swallows hard. 

Harry kicks one leg up til his foot's flat on the sheets, thumbs over the head of his dick and sighs. 

"S'good," he says, breathlessly. "I'm already wet." 

"Yeah, can see that." Nick's voice is hoarse. 

"I was dreaming," Harry says, softly, eyelids fluttering as he gives himself a tight long stroke. "Mm, kept thinking I was fucking you, on like this bed in the middle of a forest? Except everyone was watching, like, the other lads and - and Taylor was there, weirdly?" 

Nick snorts. "Shut up, Styles." 

"You asked if it was a good dream!" 

"It was rhetorical." Nick shifts for a better view. "Tell me- tell me what you're thinking of now." 

He holds his breath after he asks, stupidly.  

Harry twists his hand a bit and sighs out, "You." 

"Shut up," Nick says automatically, watching the slick plump head of Harry's dick peeking out of his fist.  

"I am, though." 

Nick lets out a long breath. It only trembles a bit. 

"You don't have to lie." 

"Mm, I'm not," Harry says, low and sure of himself. He catches his thumbnail against his slit and lets out a sharp breath. "Thinking about - about when we made her. That night." 

"You _remember_ that night?" 

Harry considers it, biting his lip. "Alright, technically no, but I can imagine." 

Nick laughs. "You're mental."

"I mean, it's not like it was our first time," Harry says, wanking himself slowly, steadily. "So I actually _can_  imagine. I just- wish I did remember, cos I bet it felt so fucking good to shag you bare." 

Nick's not laughing anymore. Harry's smiling up at the ceiling, pleasure written all over his face. 

"I came inside you," he continues, eyes half-closed. "You liked it, I remember that much." 

Nick remembers that much, too. Showering the next morning, after Harry had left him alone in bed. Rubbing his fingers inside himself and coming again, against the wall, gasping in the muggy heat of the shower. 

"I like that you liked it," Harry says, mouth curving up. "I like that you felt good while we made a baby." 

Nick laughs and it comes out choked. "You're such a sap." 

Harry smiles at him, eyes dark, hand moving between his legs. 

"I like," he says. "That everyone can see what I've done to you." 

Nick's breath catches in his throat. 

"Haz." 

"It's true," Harry says, eyes fluttering. His hand speeds up. "Everyone knows I've fucked you. Everyone knows you made me- you made me come, and I knocked you up, it's so-" 

He breaks off, gasping as he comes on his stomach, dick jerking with each pulse. Nick watches him wide-eyed, quivering. He doesn't touch. 

Harry's eyes ease open as he comes down. He drags his fingers through the mess on his belly, swallows, his throat bobbing. 

"Oh," Nick says, weakly. "So it's like that then." 

Harry looks over at him, and then reaches out with his clean hand, touches the curve of Nick's stomach, reverent.

"Yeah," he says, cheeks flushed pink, a slow grin unfolding on his face. "Yeah, it's like that."

\---

Two hours later, Harry emerges from the bedroom, and Nick looks up from his bowl of cereal. Harry's been on the phone for the last forty-five minutes, with People. Important People. Like his manager and publicist and everyone. 

Nick puts his spoon down. 

"You alright?" 

"Yeah, I'm good," Harry says, sliding into the chair next to him and stealing a bite of Nick's cereal. "Hey, is that Kashi? I told you you'd like that-" 

"I don't even like it, it's just all I had left," Nick says, distractedly, tugging the spoon out of Harry's hand. "Give me that back, I was eating- wait. Wait. What happened? On the phone?" 

Harry laughs at him, a drop of soymilk on the side of his mouth. 

"It's done," he says. 

Nick goggles at him. "What's that mean?" 

Harry eases the spoon out of Nick's hand and takes another bite. Nick pouts at him. "It means, it's done. We can check the papers tomorrow, or whatever. I put out a statement." 

"A statement?" 

"That says I'm the father," Harry says, grinning around a mouthful. "And we're in a relationship, and please respect our privacy, and I'm absolutely ecstatic about being a dad, blah blah blah." 

"Blah blah _blah_?" 

"You know what I mean." Harry scrapes his chair back to fetch Nick more cereal. "Like. It'll be official. And _done_. Natalie wanted an interview, with both of us. And to sell the baby pictures exclusively to the Sun or summat. I said fuck no."

He sounds utterly pleased with himself, as he yanks the milk out of the refrigerator.  

"I mean, it won't be _done_ ," Nick says slowly.  

"No interview, is what I meant," Harry says, deflating slightly. "She wanted to do this whole thing in the Times. Next weekend, which, like, we can't even do, because we're- oh shite, I forgot to ask you. Will you come up North with me next weekend? Just for a night." 

Nick lets out a long breath. "What?" 

"Holmes Chapel." Harry very determinedly doesn't look at him. He sticks the milk back in the fridge, slides the cereal in front of Nick. Nick didn't even really want another full bowl. "To- to see my parents. Will you come?" 

 _Gemma,_ Nick thinks, with a flash of panic.

"Will your sister be there?" 

"Uhh, no. I think she'll be in New York. But don't worry, she'll be back in time for the baby." He grins, and Nick tries to mirror it. 

"Uh," he says. "Yeah." 

"Yeah?" 

"I mean, yeah. Sure. If I can fit in the car." 

Harry laughs, and takes a bite of cereal. "You won't get that much bigger between then and now. Don't think you _can_ get that much bigger." 

"Arsehole," Nick says half-heartedly, yanking his cereal bowl back, milk slopping over the side. 

"Joking," Harry says, suddenly sweet. He kisses Nick's shoulder. "So it's sorted then. God. Everything's - everything's getting sorted out." 

He sounds so happy. Nick swallows hard, puts a spoonful in his mouth to hide the way he feels. 

"Yeah, Haz," he says, muffled. "Everything's sorted." 

\---

They drive up north the next Friday, late afternoon, after Nick's second-to-last Nixtape and a full day of meetings about what they're going to do once he's gone for paternity leave. Nick sleeps in the car, deep and dreamless, and rouses himself when Harry pulls into the driveway of his parents’ house. 

“We here?” he mumbles, the radio playing low, the car warm and toasty. Christ, Nick’s knackered. He could fall back asleep right now. He forces his eyes open.

Harry’s hands are fidgeting on the wheel. 

“Yeah,” he says, sounding nervous. “Here.” 

Nick looks at him, and Harry smiles weakly back, reaches out and takes Nick’s hand. 

“You’re nervous,” Nick says, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you nervous? Do they hate me?” 

“Shut up, they don’t hate you,” Harry says, squeezing Nick’s fingers in his. “And I’m not nervous. Just- just thanks, for agreeing to come. Haven't been home since, uh, since I got back.” 

Harry is nervous, Nick can see it, but he supposes it can’t be helped. 

He himself is avoiding nervousness by being very, very sleepy and pointedly not thinking about how angry Gemma was, how she must have gotten Anne on her side, how much the family must despise him right now, the decade-older knocked-up mess of a DJ who’s going to bring Harry’s life to a screeching halt- 

Well. Maybe he’s not doing that well at avoiding being nervous.

“Let’s go,” Harry says, leaning across and kissing Nick’s mouth. “Mum’s got tea on.” 

Anne opens the door, and Harry throws himself into her arms. 

Nick’s eyes meet hers over Harry’s shoulder. She’s staring, wide-eyed, at his face and then at his belly. 

“Missed you,” Harry’s saying, kissing her cheek over and over. “Missed you so much.” 

“You too, darling,” she says faintly, and Harry pulls away, looks back at Nick, shyly, nods him forward. 

“Good to see you, Anne,” Nick says, voice a bit shaky. 

Anne nods, blinking, apparently still in shock. 

“Mum,” Harry says, shaking her wrist gently with one hand. 

“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t hug Nick, or touch him at all. “Sorry. Just. Er. It’s- it’s good to see you too, Nick.” 

Oh, this is terrible. Nick swallows hard against a acidic rush of panic in his throat. 

“Hope you’ve been well,” he says helplessly. 

“Yeah, you- you been good, mum?” Harry says, watching her. “Been alright?” 

“Good, yeah,” she says, but her voice is trembling. She lets out a rough sound, puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh. God. I’m sorry.” 

“Mum,” Harry says, warningly. “Don’t.” 

“Sorry,” she chokes out, thickly. Nick has no fucking clue what to do. “I’m sorry. Just. It's a shock. To actually see it. Sorry.”

Harry glances at Nick with dark eyes, looking angry. Nick doesn’t know at what.

“Mum,” Harry says, voice cracking. “Please.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says, muffled into her hand. “Come in.” 

Nick feels a bit like he can’t breathe. 

Bloody Harry, saying it’ll be fine, when it’s obviously not. When they’re obviously bloody grief-stricken by the news. Fucking fucking fucking hell. 

Harry shuts the door behind Nick, and takes Nick’s jacket off one arm, slips it around. 

“I can do it,” Nick snaps under his breath, yanking the sleeve from Harry’s hand. Harry flicks his eyes up to Nick’s, surprised. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, and Nick looks away. 

\---

They have tea - pasta with chicken and pesto, and a salad, and warm French bread. Anne and Robin ask Harry about the island, and every few seconds Anne’s eyes slip over to Nick before darting away quickly. Nick keeps quiet, uncharacteristically, eating instead of talking, stuffing his face steadily to soothe the queasiness in his belly.

“Here,” Harry says quietly, scooping more pasta onto Nick’s plate as soon as Nick finishes. He gives Nick a wan smile, before he turns back to Robin, asking something about his work. 

Nick stares at his plate, cheeks red, feeling oddly caught-out. Looks up and sees Anne watching him again. 

“So,” Robin says. “We haven’t even had a chance to say congratulations to you both.” 

Harry beams, and Nick forces a smile, putting down his fork. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Such a shock,” Anne says, voice still weak. She forces a smile. “I’d- I’d been listening to the show, Nick, you know, so- so I knew about the baby, of course.” 

“Ahh,” Nick says, immediately trying to review every single thing he’s ever said in relation to her future grandchild. “Yeah.”

“But- well. I didn’t think- I mean, there was all that crap in the tabloids, but I didn’t really believe-” 

She stops. 

“How we think of it is,” Harry says, into the strained silence. “We both - we both messed up a bit, like, I went away and I said some- some hurtful things, and - and Grim, um, kept this from me, but, like, it’s about a fresh start, now.” 

Nick’s face is burning. Christ, Harry. Really laying all their shit out on the table for his parents to see. 

“Well, I think that sounds very mature of you, Harry,” Robin says, forking some pasta into his mouth and smiling, blissfully unaware of the tension coiling between Nick and his wife. 

“Don’t see how _you've_ messed up, Harry,” Anne says to herself, eyebrows raising. Nick’s stomach clenches.

“Mum-” 

“I’m just saying, I don’t see how you’ve messed up. You didn’t know. If you’d known, you would’ve-” 

“Honestly, mum, please don’t do this,” Harry says shakily. “Please. We talked about this.”

Nick stiffens, hand clenching around his fork.  

“I’m not saying I’m not happy,” Anne says defensively. “I am. I’m very happy.” 

She makes eye contact with Nick. “I’m happy for you.” 

Nick nods, stupidly. “Thanks,” he mumbles out. 

“I’m happy for - for both of you,” she says, haltingly. “It was just a shock. You’re so young, Harry. I just - it was a shock.” 

Harry’s eyes are watery. He coughs, looking over at Nick, and Nick wants to do something - take Harry’s hand under the table, touch him, but he can’t. He just sits there. 

“Was a shock for me too,” he says, trying to make a joke of it, but no one laughs. Nick supposes it wasn’t really funny. He clenches his jaw, puts his fork on the table. 

“I’m knackered, actually,” he says. “Long day at work.” 

“Yeah, you should get to bed,” Harry says quickly. “Mum, you putting us up in my room?” 

“As always, love, yes.” 

“Know where it is, don’t you, Nick?” Harry asks, looking at him. 

Nick nods, scraping his chair back from the table. 

Harry’s room never changes. Same posters on the wall, same faded carpet and soft worn-in comforter. Nick splashes water over his face, brushes his teeth halfheartedly and crawls into bed. Downstairs he can hear Harry and Anne talking in low voices, and he tries to muster up the energy to be worried, but he falls asleep before he can. 

\---

He wakes up at five AM to the gut-punch of a kick inside him, the baby doing what feels like a forward roll. It hurts something awful. Nick drags in air through his mouth, props himself up on his hands, breathless, torn out of sleep.

Harry’s asleep next to him, hair spread across the pillow and his soft mouth open. Nick watches him for a minute, and then slowly climbs out of bed for a wee. 

He can’t sleep after, and he can’t risk sitting awake in bed and waking Harry up, so he sticks his feet into a pair of Harry’s old slippers and pads out of the room, down the creaky stairs.  

He sees a lamp glowing on the back porch, and he steps outside, shivering.

"Morning," Anne says, from where she's sitting on the sofa sipping a cup of tea. 

"Morning," Nick says, tensing up. "Uh. Sorry to- I didn't, I didn't know anyone else was up." 

He turns around, and she says, "No, it's alright. Come sit." 

He winces, and turns back. 

"Couldn't sleep?" she says quietly, beckoning him down onto the sofa next to her. 

"Yeah." He sits down gingerly, huffs out a breath when he tries to get comfortable.  

"Getting close now, innit," she says.

"Yeah," he says, crossing an arm over his stomach. "Really close." 

There's a silence. Anne takes another sip of her tea. 

"I'm like fully terrified," Nick says, into the quiet, and then blushes hot. Fuck. She doesn't want to bloody console him over the baby he tried to hide from her son. "I- sorry." 

"S'alright," she says, giving him a tight smile. "Everyone is, when it happens." 

Nick nods, stares out the frosty window at the snow-covered field outside, dark trees peeking through. 

"It's hard for me," Anne says, suddenly. "To, to understand, you know, why you decided to keep this from him. It's quite hard for me to understand. And so I've felt- angry, and frustrated. And I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome last night." 

Nick keeps staring out the window, blinking hard to keep his eyes from going blurry. God, Harry's almost-embarrassing emotional honesty is genetic, apparently. 

"I'm sorry," he says, like he's said about a thousand times now. He'll probably just keep apologizing constantly until the baby pops out. "I - I really am sorry." 

"I know you are," Anne says, chewing her lip, taking another sip of her tea and looking away from him. "I just still don't understand why, you know, because - because I always thought you trusted him, do you know what I mean? I always thought you were one of the only people who was always on his side." 

She sniffs in hard. 

"I thought you, of all people, would know that he'd be able to handle this," she whispers. "Other people think he's just some sort of - faithless heartbreaker, or whatever they- they all say about him." 

Nick watches as she breathes out hard, scrubs her hand over her face and takes a gulp of tea. Her eyes are smeared wet and Nick hates that, he fully hates that. 

"Sorry," she says, voice choked. 

"I don't really know, like. I don't know how to explain-" Nick starts, and stops. Starts again. "Harry and I, it's never been - there's a difference between being just mates and- and having a baby, that's a big difference." 

"You've never been just mates with him, Nick." 

"I know," Nick says, roughly.

"He loves you," Anne says, with a little shrug, wiping her nose again. "And I thought you- you did too. Even before this all happened-

"I do love him," Nick says, cutting her off, his voice wobbly, because that's still so hard to say out loud, to let other people hear. "I do. And- and you know what it's like to love him, don't you, Anne? He goes away. He goes away all the time. And I didn't want him to go away." 

"Did you think he would if he knew what-" 

"I didn't bloody know!" Nick bursts out, and his voice cracks. "I didn't want to give him the chance! I just- I just didn't want him to go away, you know? I was so- _scared_ , Anne, god, I'm sorry-" 

He's barely breathing now, hitching out short panicked little sobs of breath, and Anne moves closer to him on the sofa, puts her arm around him, brings his face into her chest. He shuts his eyes. 

"Shh, love," she says, low, stroking his hair. "Shh. Breathe." 

"I'm just so- I- and now she's gonna be messed up because of what I did, and Harry, like - he says he's forgiven me but I don't know if he really has," Nick says, muffled against her jumper. "I don't know. And you bloody hate me now-" 

"Hey," she says, sternly, lifting his head. "I don't hate you, Nick, don't be silly." 

"You're mad at me," Nick says pitifully, blinking at her. 

"I was surprised, that doesn't mean I hate you. Bleeding hell, love, you really are a drama queen, aren't you?" 

She laughs a little, strokes his hair. 

"Could never hate you, Nick," she says, with a crooked kind of smile. "You've always been so lovely to Harry and now you're doing this big exciting thing together and you're part of the family. You're giving me a bloody _grandchild_ , love. No one hates you. Calm down." 

“Gemma hates me,” Nick says, darkly. 

Anne laughs again. 

“Gemma’s angry,” she says. “That’s true. But god, Nick, give her two minutes around the baby and she’ll go gooey as anything. She’s just protective over Harry. She’s always been. Don’t worry about Gemma.” 

Nick exhales hard. 

"I'm supposed to be the older wiser one but I don't think I am, am I," he says. "Like, with dealing with all this." 

Anne pats his leg. 

"Yeah, I know what you mean. He's quite wise in his own way, isn't he?" 

"Bloody philosopher," Nick mutters, and she laughs quietly. 

“I think he’ll be a good dad,” she says, letting out a breath. “God. What a strange thing to think about your baby, like. I swear he was sixteen two bloody days ago.” 

Nick breathes out a laugh. 

“But he grew up fast when it all started, you know?” she says, soft and thoughtful, sniffing in hard. “He’s- he’s a proper adult, now. He takes care of himself. He'll take care of you.” 

“Got a good head on his shoulders,” Nick says, watching her watery eyes. "Raised right."

She waves him off, ducking her head. 

“He knows his own mind,” she says, inhaling shakily. “And honestly, Nick, he’s so ready to do this with you. He was so - he gave me a talk, last night after dinner. Told me how he can't wait." 

"Yeah?" Nick asks, trying to bite down a grin. He must not be successful, because Anne smiles at him knowingly.

"Yeah," she says. "He wants me to be nicer to you. Says you've had a rough go of it." 

Nick drops his eyes. 

"Haven't," he says, defensively. "I'm fine." 

"Couldn't have been easy, to do it all by yourself. With all that crap in the tabloids, too." 

Nick shrugs uncomfortably. 

"Missed him," he admits, low. 

Anne nods, almost approvingly, like she'd been waiting for that. 

"Well," she says, briskly. "He's here now. Let's go in the house, love, you're shivering. How about a cup of tea?" 

\---

"Morning," Harry says a half hour later, flopping down on the sofa and curling into him, hooking his head on Nick's shoulder and his hand across his belly, reaching to steal a sip of his cold tea. "How'd you sleep?" 

"Alright," Nick says, turning his head for a kiss, and Harry obliges him. "Woke up early, she was all over the place." 

"Was she?" Harry says, rubbing Nick's stomach gently. "Were you bothering your dad so he couldn't sleep, hmm?" he says, directly to the baby, and Nick snorts. 

"You're an idiot." 

"I think she can hear me." Harry smiles against Nick's neck. "I met this one woman in, like, Texas or summat, who swore that if she asked the baby questions it would kick once for yes and twice for no. She tried it out with me and it totally did kick-" 

"Oh my god, that's ridiculous." 

"And I mean, I bet our baby's smarter than _hers_ ," Harry says, and then laughs sheepishly into Nick's skin. "Hmm. Insulting other people's babies feels wrong." 

"It should, Harold." 

Harry laughs again. "You had breakfast?" 

"Just a yoghurt." 

Harry hums. "Fancy a bacon bap?" 

"God yes," Nick groans, kissing Harry's forehead. "That sounds amazing." 

"Sit tight," Harry says, and he ducks down to press a sweet, short kiss against Nick's stomach before he rolls to his feet, wanders into the kitchen. Nick watches him go - Harry's trackies hanging low and his narrow hips swaying, and then turns back to the muted telly. He shuts his eyes for a minute, hears Harry and Anne chatting in the kitchen, soft and unintelligible. 

"Nick," he hears, some indeterminate time later, and he opens his eyes to see Harry standing over him.  

"Mmgh," Nick says, undignified. "Sorry. Was I asleep? Sorry. She’s making me more narcoleptic than usual." 

"S'good you slept," Harry says, kissing Nick's cheek. "There's food if you want. Need a hand up?" 

"As always, yes," Nick says, and Harry tugs him up with those popstar biceps of his, steadies Nick on his feet, smiling at him. His eyes look very green today. Christ, Nick hopes the baby's eyes are green. 

"Bacon," Harry says enticingly, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Lots of bacon." 

Nick sniffs the air, and follows Harry into the kitchen. 

\---

"That'll probably be our last trip for a while," Nick says when they're all packed up and on their way home, wriggling into the front seat of Harry's Mercedes. He turns the heat on full-blast. His toes are freezing. "Mine, at least." 

"We should've gone to Ibiza," Harry says, and Nick snorts at the mental image. 

"Ahh, yeah, I'd be a hit in Ibiza right now." 

"She'd come out a raver," Harry says, with a little smile. "Clutching a glowstick." 

Nick huffs a laugh. "Coolest baby ever." 

Harry fumbles his sunglasses over his eyes as he merges onto the M6.

"Thanks for coming," he says, five minutes later, one hand on the wheel. "Know it meant a lot to my mum and dad." 

Nick looks over at him. 

"Thanks for not hating me," he says, and it's meant to be a joke but it comes out a bit wobbly. 

Harry glances at him sharply, then shoves his sunglasses back up his head.

"Nick-" 

"Sorry," Nick says, hastily. 

"You know I don't hate you-" 

"I know. I know. I was just joking. Sorry." 

Harry turns back to the road, chewing the side of his mouth, and it's a long minute before he speaks. 

"The shit thing is, like, I don't even think you get how much I love- being around you. Like I don't even think you- you like yourself enough to see how completely bloody in love with you I am." 

His voice is low. 

Nick looks out the window, tries to think of something witty to say to that - _I love myself, I'm my own favorite person_ , he nearly says, but he bites his tongue hard, keeps his mouth shut. It's just that Harry's so, so good at trying to make the best of things. He convinces himself of things that aren’t really how he feels. Nick’s seen him do it before. 

"D'you think I'm unhappy?" Harry asks quietly. "Is that it? Cos I've never felt more happy. I feel fucking, like, giddy when I think about our baby, Nick. It's actually-" 

He laughs, choked. "It's actually mad, because I know I should still give a shit about my career, like, but I don't. I just don't. I don't care about anything else. I just keep thinking about you and our daughter and it's like, it's like I won the bloody lottery." 

He sounds so painfully sincere. 

"I just wish you'd told me," he says softly, and Nick bites his lip _hard_. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. 

"But just because I- I wish you'd told me, it doesn't mean I'm angry with you," Harry says quickly, swallowing audibly. "Okay? I get that, like, you thought it wasn't the right time. I get- why- why you didn't. I wish I'd known because I hate that you- you were alone, for most of it, you know?" 

His voice is shaky. 

"Harry-" 

"No, I really, really hate thinking that," Harry says, shaking his head like he's warding off the thought. "That you were scared and I wasn't there. That you found out all this stuff about her and I wasn't there. Because we did it together, like, we had sex, and then you dealt with everything alone for so long, and it’s not fair." 

Nick bites down hard on his lip, stares out the window. 

"I'm fine," he says. "Honestly, Harry." 

"Don't say honestly when you're not being honest," Harry says quietly.  

Nick inhales unsteadily. 

"If it ever happens again," Harry says, very low. "I'm not saying it will. If it does. I'm gonna be there for every bit of it. Every fucking second." 

Nick huffs a laugh. "It's not gonna happen again." 

Harry nods, jaw clenched. 

"From now, then," he says. "From now. Every second. I promise." 

A _promise_. How fucking - quaint. Nick tips his head back against the seat, glancing out the window.

"D'you hear me?" 

"Yeah, Harold, I hear you."

Harry looks at him for a suspiciously long time. Nick would really like him to keep his eyes on the road. 

"Are you happy?" Harry asks softly. "With me?" 

Oh, what a question. Nick thinks about the churning in his stomach, the ever-present fear that Harry will up and leave, that Harry will be so sweet, so good to him, and then he'll go. Harry gives 100% of himself when he's there. He always has. Made Nick feel fucking adored, when he was around, and then suddenly he wasn't.

Nick thinks about that, and then he thinks about where he is, right now. What he's waiting for. Harry next to him telling Nick he's never leaving again. Their child resting, deceptively quiet, inside Nick. The way his life's going to open up and get bigger. 

"Yeah," he says, with a crack in his voice. "Just - scared." 

"Me too." Harry laces his fingers through Nick's. "Good scared, though." 

Nick squeezes his hand to say _yes_ , and reaches out to turn the radio up. 

\---

"Nick," Harry calls from the bedroom that night, and Nick looks up. 

"Yeah?" 

"Can you come here a minute?" 

Nick looks sadly down at his beautiful toastie. The cheese is oozing out onto the plate, melty and perfect. 

"I'm eating!" he yells. 

"Just for a minute, Nick." 

Nick sighs. 

Harry's in the bedroom, sitting at Nick's desk, and- oh. He's going through the baby folder, the _early_ baby folder Nick sort of forgot about, with the first few sonograms and the doctor's reports and - and the letter. The letter from Harry, from the summer, all worn and creased because Nick's read it about a hundred times.

Nick stops short in the doorway. 

Harry looks up at him. His eyes are wide. 

"Umm," Nick says. "That's - what's that doing there?" 

"Did you know about her - when, when you got this?" Harry says, voice shaky, his fingers spread out over the first page of the letter. 

Nick does _not_ want to get into this. He wants to eat his toastie and sprawl on the couch and watch telly and pretend everything's fine. 

"Yeah, I knew," he says, swallowing. 

Harry nods, looking down at the letter. 

"Don't know what the fuck I was on about," he says, voice small. 

"Yes you do," Nick says, heavily. "Don't pretend you don't." 

Harry nods again, running a hand through his hair, staring at the letter. 

"This is why you didn't tell me, right?" 

"Haz-" 

"No, c'mon. Just. Tell me." 

"It's - it's part of it," Nick says, miserably. 

"You didn't think I'd come back," Harry says, with a bitter twist in his voice. "Because I was too busy _finding myself_ on a bloody island." 

"Let's not do this, Harry-" 

"No, I - I need to talk about this," Harry says, low. 

"It wasn't about you not coming back," Nick says, fast, feeling like he can't look Harry in the eyes. "It was just about- about you, having a tough time, needing to figure stuff out, and - and me not wanting to-" 

He falters. 

"Ask for too much?" Harry says softly. 

"Fucking hell," Nick mutters. "I really don't want to talk about this. We've talked about this a million times." 

"Nick, we have to figure this stuff out, alright, it's-" 

"Okay, fine!" Nick snaps. "I've - I've always been the one who doesn't ask, okay? I don't ask for anything, I don't ask you- to- to like, stay, alright, I was _good_ , because it shouldn't have been happening in the first place, you and me." 

Nick's out of breath, embarrassingly. He gulps in air. 

"Nick." 

"This wasn't supposed to happen. You're bloody _Harry Styles_. You're so _young_ , Haz, like, when I was twenty-three the last fucking thing I wanted was a baby. Do you get what this means? What it's gonna be like? My life's going to be really - really different, like everything's going to be different-" 

He has to stop because he's close to crying, and Harry shoves the chair back and stands up to put his arms around Nick's neck. 

"Hey," Harry mumbles against his cheek, his warm hands pressed against Nick's back. "Shhh. Hey. It's alright." 

"I didn't ask you," Nick chokes out. 

"I know." Harry pets his back. "I know." 

"I'm sorry-" 

"I know. Me too, me too." 

Nick sniffles hard, lifts his hand to scrub at his eyes. "God, I fucking hate crying." 

Harry huffs a laugh. "It's good sometimes, though." 

"Don't go all New Agey on me," Nick says. "Next you'll be telling me to, like, speak my truth." 

"You should speak your truth, though, Grim," Harry says very seriously. "Honest open communication is the key to a-" 

"Shut _up_." 

Harry laughs roughly, and then kisses Nick's neck. 

"You were eating," he says, sliding his warm palm onto Nick's stomach. "Do you want to go back to eating?" 

Nick exhales hard, rubs at his eyes again. "Yes please." 

Harry follows Nick back into the kitchen, and Nick stares in dismay at his toastie. The cheese is congealed and the bread looks soggy and life is a fucking disappointment. 

"Ooh, that looks good," Harry says. "Have we got ketchup?" 

"It looks terrible," Nick snaps. 

"I- really? I think it's-" 

"It's ruined," Nick says. "Whatever. I'll just eat fucking kale or whatever you got yesterday. Until I fucking die from malnutrition." 

"Okay," Harry says, soothingly, and Nick knows he's being soothing because Nick is being stroppy, but why shouldn't he be? Why shouldn't he be in a strop? All he fucking wanted was to eat his toastie and not bloody _cry_ , today, like he does every day, because his body's been taken over by a parasite that's sucking away all his sanity. 

"Nick," Harry says, worriedly, watching his face. "Okay. Alright! How about you sit down and get the telly on and I'll make another toastie." 

"Don't treat me like I'm five, Harold," Nick says, even though he feels a little bit like he's five. "I'm fine."

"I know you are." Harry kisses his shoulder. "I think the baby's being a little shit right now, though, isn't she?" 

Nick gives Harry a look, and Harry just smiles sheepishly, dimples popping out.

"Go sit down." 

Nick sits down. He pulls a blanket over himself, grabs for the remote, and Harry says from the kitchen, "You know-" 

"What," Nick says, about to turn the telly on. He turns impatiently.

Harry pops his head in. 

"It's okay to- to let me take care of you," he says, his eyes dark and serious and very green. "Because I want you to take care of me. Like, like I want that to be how we are." 

Nick blinks a couple times, dumbly.

"Anyway," Harry says, flushing red when Nick doesn't respond. "Toastie." 

He disappears back into the kitchen, and Nick turns to the telly. 

An EastEnders replay is on, and he stares at it blankly, and then pulls the blanket closer up to his neck.

"You're pretty lucky," he whispers, low enough so Harry won't hear. "We're pretty bloody lucky." 

He tucks the blanket in around her, carefully, and waits for his toastie. 

\---

"And now, to really celebrate this momentous occasion, we've got a surprise guest for you, Nicholas," Matt says into mic, during the last show before Nick takes off for paternity leave.

Nick peers at him suspiciously. God, it better not be Harry. It better not be. 

"A special surprise guest?" he says. "I don't know if I can handle this. You've got your devious face on. That squirrelly little face of yours, Matt Fincham." 

"It's pretty good. You're probably going to cry."

"Well, alright, let's see, let's see who it is."

"Nick," Matt says. "On this day of your last Breakfast show - for a _while_ , of course, not forever, just for a while - we thought we'd bring in another Breakfast show host who's got some tips on parenthood and on, well, moving on." 

"Nooo," Nick says, grinning, sitting up straighter in his chair. That's better than bloody Harry. "You didn't." 

"Yes we did, Nick, it's dear old Sara Cox here for you!" 

The studio door opens and Sara parades in, curtsying, waving, the rest of the team clapping over a audience applause track, and - oh, god, Nick might actually cry. His throat goes all hot. This is emotional _warfare_.

Sara grins at him, gives him a tight squeeze around the shoulders, bending down to reach him in his chair. She puts her hand on his belly, kisses his cheek. 

"Hiya, Nick," she says, and Nick laughs roughly, fumbles for a tissue, pushing her off and laughing when she nearly trips in her haste to get to a mic.

"Sara bleedin' Cox," he says, clearing his throat. "Look who's showing her face at Radio One." 

"Only for you, Nick," she says, clearer now as she gets on Fiona's mic, slipping headphones over her ears. "What else could make me return to these hallowed halls?" 

"Are they hallowed?" Nick laughs. "Well, _hi_ , Sara Cox, hi, you're here."

"I'm here, babe," Sara says. "And chock-full of mummy tips for ya." 

"Oh, I can't wait. Good to see you, Coxy." 

"Should we play a song, first?" Matt asks, measuredly, though he's looking a bit happy himself, pink in the cheeks. Nick sticks out his tongue at him. Matt didn't _tell him_ , and now Nick's probably going to cry on air. Bastard.

"We probably should," Nick says. "Here's some Disclosure, and we'll be back with our surprise guest dear old Sara Cox in a minute." 

He hits play, and Sara stands up, comes to hug him, longer this time. 

"God, Nick," she says into his ear. "You're absolutely massive."

"Aw, cheers, Coxy, I'm aware," Nick says, snorting as she pinches the skin. 

"God," she says, pulling back, looking at him. "You're all grown-up, aren't you." 

"Pshh, never. Don’t be fooled." 

Sara grins. "Proud of ya, babe," she says, eyes soft. "I've got such a soppy speech, you'll be crying your eyes out. Get back at you for that time you had all my offspring complimenting me on air." 

Nick snorts. "I mean, I'm already about to go off, so it won't be hard."

When the song fades out, Matt looks expectantly over at Sara, poised in front of the mic. Nick braces himself. 

"Alright then, let's get started, let's see you off," Sara says. She clears her throat, and some sentimental music starts playing. Nick rolls his eyes. "Nick. Grimmy. My darling. I know you're going to start off being a dad the same way you started the Breakfast Show." 

"That's not a great example-" 

Matt glares at him to shut up.

"Bravely," Sara says, looking at him, smiling like she knows how cheesy she's being. "Not perfectly. Definitely not like an expert, let's be honest. Bit slapdash, and not put-together, and bricking it. But - and this is the important bit - you'll do it with a massive amount of enthusiasm. You're going to figure it out as you go along, and I can't think of a sprog luckier than yours, Nick, because you're the most kind and warm-hearted person I know." 

Fiona _aww_ s softly. Nick doesn't make a sound. He reaches up to scrub at his eyes, sniff in hard away from mic so it's inaudible. Sara winks at him. 

"And now," she says. "Now that the cheesy speech is over. To _really_ get back to you for making me teary on air, we've got some messages to play for you. From your godchildren."

"Bloody hell!" Nick says, voice coming out broken. "You're sadistic. This is worse than when Scott and Chris played Babar music down the line when I was hungover." 

"Oh shut it, babe, you deserve it. Here's the first message," Sara laughs, and nods at Matt, who hits play. 

It's the twins, both of them, talking over each other, and Nick chokes out a laugh, fumbles for a tissue. 

"Grimmy, you're going to be an awesome dad," one of them says - hard to tell which. "You're gonna be wicked. And I'm gonna be an awesome uncle." 

Nick laughs again. "Dunno if that's how that works," he says into mic. 

"Nick," says his brother. "You're going to be the best dad ever, after my dad. Because you're already the best god-dad ever." 

"We love you," they chorus, and the recording stops. Fiona's giggling, looking a little misty, and Matt just looks proud. _Proud_. What an odd thing. Nick gets it, though. Matt nods at him to speak.

Nick sighs into mic. "Oh, god. I'm gonna be a wreck. Thank you, lads, that was very sweet." 

"Well we've got about thirty more children to go, don't we?" Sara says, and Nick snorts. "Next up, Fincham?" 

Matt hits play. 

"Hiii, Grimmy," a voice says. Oh, god. Rudy. Nick laughs. "I can't wait to see Grimmy Junior. Hope she doesn't look like you - _ow_ , Iris, I was only joking! Anyway, we're all, like, proud of you or whatever. Mum's crying while I record this. Mum, seriously, get it together. It's not like he's dying." 

"Course Sadie's crying!" Nick says, rubbing his eyes. "Course she is!" 

"Grim," a voice says. "It's Iris. Babe, you're gonna be the best dad ever. I can't wait to hold her and buy her like a million little pressies. We all love you- Rudy, stay bloody _still_ \- and - and yeah. We're so excited. Love you, Nick." 

"Aww, I love that Iris popped in at the end," Nick says, laughing. "Can never let Rudy do a thing on his own. Thank you so much, loves, that was so so sweet. I hope she doesn't look like me either. I'm horrific in drag." 

Sara grins at him. "And last but very not least. Your youngest." 

"Uncle Grimmy!" Arlo says, in his sweet creaky toddler's voice. "You are going to be the _best_ dad ever. You are my very favorite. I love you." 

"Oh my _god_!" Nick cries into mic, when the recording clicks off. "Thank you so much, little lion. That was short but sweet. Hope he's tuned in, Mairead. And thank _you_ , Sara Cox, for that emotionally devastating feature. I think we should play some music now, probably. So I can fetch more tissues. The Nixtape's coming up in a few minutes - last one before I'm off for a while having a baby or whatever- so tune in!"

He hits play, and pushes his chair back, rubbing his nose with one hand. One more link and then the Nixtape and then it's over. Bloody fucking hell. Nick draws in a wobbly breath, reaches for a tissue, flipping Sara off when she laughs at him. 

"Oh, look who else showed up!" Matt calls, glancing at the studio door, and Nick looks up to see Harry shouldering the door open, ducking his head and waving at everyone. He's in black jeans and one of Nick's button-downs and a leather jacket, sunglasses pushed into his thick hair. 

"Oh, god, did you-"

"I didn't invite him, mate, he came on his own," Matt says, a smile at the corner of his mouth. Nick hits him, for no particular reason other than that Matt always deserves a smack.

"Look at the popstar!" he crows, as Matt yelps and rubs his arm. Harry looks up from where he's pressing a kiss to the top of Ian's head, patting his chest with one hand. 

He smiles, and Nick has to fight against a giddy sort of rush in his stomach. 

"Hiya, Grim," Harry says. 

"Back in shtudio, Shtyles," Ian laughs, as Harry lets him go, slides his arms around Sara and squeezes her tight. Sara pats his folded arms, leans back to let him kiss her cheek. 

“Good to be back, Harry?” she asks. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry says slowly, grinning. "In my rightful place at BBC Radio One.” 

"Here to pull my mic away from my face and throw things at me," Nick sighs, as Harry comes around the desk, leans down and gives Nick a kiss on the mouth. Just like that. Like it's nothing. 

"Morning, dad," he says, low and sweet.

"Don't call me that," Nick says back. Oh god, his face's gone red. "Do you want me to start calling you Frankie Cocozza?" 

Harry laughs, white teeth flashing, and puts his hand on Nick's stomach. 

"No, I don't want that. How's your last show, love?" 

"It's- how d'you think it's been, Finchy?" Nick asks, trying to drag his eyes away from Harry's soft pink mouth. "Good?" 

"Not your best, but alright," Matt says, lips pursed. He looks like he's trying not to laugh. 

"I think it's been bloody brilliant, _Fincham_ ," Harry says, pulling a face at Matt. "Mind if I stick around? I drove. We can get lunch after. There’s this place I want to try." 

"Well, how can I resist a free lunch," Nick says, as Harry leans down to kiss his mouth again. "Pull up a chair, popstar. Help me do the Nixtape." 

Harry falls into a spare office chair, wheels himself towards Nick with his feet, grinning at him the whole time. 

"Love you," he says, against Nick's ear, leaning on his shoulder and watching as Nick slides an old Mariah song into Calvin Harris. 

Nick hums, distracted. 

Harry pulls the mic towards him, says, " _This_ is Nicholas Grimshaw, with you til ten, hope you're enjoying the Nixtape-" 

"Get off!" Nick squawks, yanking the mic away from Harry's mouth, and Matt turns down their volume with an exasperated sigh. 

\---

Nick's halfway through a turkey burger when he notices the cameras outside the restaurant. Oh god. He's probably got aioli on his face. 

He ducks his head and fumbles for a napkin. 

"We've got company," he says. Harry looks up, a chip in his mouth. 

"Hmm?" 

"Outside," Nick says. "Paps." 

Harry cranes his neck to see, and then turns back to Nick, letting out a gust of a sigh. 

"Damnit. Sort of thought this place was discreet. Ed said it's his favorite."

"Ed Sheeran's favorite restaurant and you thought it'd be discreet," Nick says dubiously. "Harry, there's three cast members off I'm A Celeb at the next table and an autographed picture of Simon Cowell on the wall. Right next to one of Ed. This place is like famous-person central. They'll probably ask you to sign a framed photo in a minute." 

Harry winces. "Sorry." 

Nick sighs, swirling two chips in ketchup. "It's fine. Chips are good, anyway." 

Harry steals a chip off his plate and chews thoughtfully. 

"Hold my hand, will you?" he asks, laying it out flat on the tabletop. Nick looks at it dubiously. 

"What're you doing?" 

"Hold my hand," Harry says, biting his lip. 

"For the paps?" 

"For me," Harry says softly. 

Nick rolls his eyes and reaches out to put his hand in Harry's. It's warm, a little greasy from the chips.

"Now I can't eat my burger." 

"Soz." Harry snorts. "But you can't let go now, they'll think we've had a falling-out." 

They sit like that quietly for a minute. Nick drags his fingertips back and forth over Harry's palm.

“Do you know what I want?" he asks, after a while. His cheeks are all red, he can feel them. He doesn't dare peek outside at the cameras he knows are there. "It's embarrassing. But you started it, with this holding-hands business." 

"What," Harry says. He's watching him steadily. 

"I've always wanted," Nick says. "To have that sort of, like, thing where the tabloids say _oh, so and so were getting all gooey in public, couldn't keep their hands off each other._ Like, just _stupid_ PDA. And the papers think it's proper romantic." 

He's definitely blushing now. 

"Nick," Harry says, tenderly, laughing a little. 

"I know. Told you it was embarrassing."  

"You know what, Grimshaw?" Harry asks, his brows furrowing. "If that's what you want? What you really want? Let's fucking make it happen." 

"Yeah?" Nick says, wobbly.

"Yeah. Sod it." And just like that, Harry puts his hand on the back of Nick's neck, guides him into a kiss. It's slow and open-mouthed, not too tongue-y. Romantic just like Nick wanted. Harry puts his other hand on Nick's cheek, cups his jaw. 

Nick can feel him smiling. 

He pulls away after a minute, and Harry ducks in for another peck, then unselfconsciously, easily kisses the tip of Nick's nose. His hand is still cupping Nick's cheek. The other hand, he places on Nick's belly, soft and casual.

"Well?" he says, low, close to Nick's face. He's teasing him. His mouth's all kissed red, and he looks just the slightest bit smug. "Gooey enough for you?" 

"I love you," Nick says, in a vehement sort of rush, because he really really feels it, right then. 

Harry's face lights up slow, mouth twitching happily at the corner and eyes going warm and crinkly. 

"Love you too," he says. 

Nick grins stupidly back. "God, we're disgusting." 

"Speak for yourself," Harry mumbles, dipping in for another kiss. "Think they've got the gooey romantic shot yet? Or should I keep going?" 

"Mm, keep going," Nick breathes luxuriously, and Harry does. 

\---

Harry pulls away eventually, pressing his fingers to Nick's cheek and smiling stupidly at him. Nick ducks his head, and puts a chip in his mouth. 

Harry twists around in his seat to check the windows. 

"Still there," he says, sighing. "Sorry. We should probably fuck next, really get them going." 

"Not in front of the cameras," Nick says around another chip, and Harry grins, eyebrows raising. 

"But maybe, like, not _not_ in front of the cameras? Or whatever, in private?" 

Nick shrugs. He does feel a bit - like he could. A bit like Harry's the most beautiful fucking thing Nick's ever seen in his life, and he'd quite like that mouth on him more. God, the way they used to fuck before Nick got knocked up, the _hours_ they'd spend in bed, or - or even better, the frantic, harsh, hurried minutes they'd spend blowing each other in closets at parties, stumbling out with swollen lips and hoping no one caught on- 

Nick shivers, and says, meaningfully, "Take me home, then."

They get a bit swarmed on the way to the car, but Harry keeps a hand on Nick's back the entire time, keeps his head down, and before long they're on their way back to Nick's. Nick can't stop looking over at him. Sweet steady Harry with his hand on the wheel, the other gripping his own thigh, his eyes sliding over to Nick's every once in a while. 

"Shit," Nick says, dazedly. "Everyone _knows_. About - you. And me." 

Harry huffs a laugh. "Yeah." 

"So not how I- I pictured it happening," Nick says, with a wry laugh. "I mean. Not that I pictured it-" 

"I did too," Harry says quietly. 

Nick presses his head against the back of his seat, sighs. 

"Sometimes I just, like, pictured - kissing you," Harry says, voice low. "Outside some party. Everyone taking pictures. Just fucking doing it. Seeing what happened." 

His mouth twists, regretfully. 

"Wish I had," he mumbles.

Nick chews his lip. Doesn't say anything. 

Does he wish that? He's not sure. It was hard enough being Harry's friend, without the added scrutiny of being one of his many shags. Harry kissing him wouldn't have made him stop being a popstar. Wouldn't have made him stop leaving on world tours every three bloody seconds. 

"Well," he says. "That part's over, innit. Fully out now." 

Harry looks at him sideways. 

"Yeah," he says. "Feels good." 

Nick looks at him, surprised, and Harry ducks his head shyly, hitting the accelerator. 

\---

"You know what I read once?" Harry murmurs against the back of Nick's neck, groping at Nick's stomach to bring himself closer. Nick'son his side in bed with Harry behind him, inside him. The lights are off and the room smells of candles and Harry's kissing the back of his shoulder, all romantic-like. God, it's been a long time since Nick was fucked. He's surprised by how good it feels. "I read once that, uh - _fuck_ , you feel good." 

Nick gasps for air. "What- what were you going to say?" 

"I, uh," Harry mumbles, thrusting deep. "Fuck. I- yeah. So I read once that. Uhh. When - when you have sex, like, when you're pregnant. She feels like she's being rocked to sleep. Really. Really gentle, like, that's how she feels it." 

He kisses underneath Nick's ear, rolls his hips. 

Nick has no comment. His brain's on holiday. It seems a bit bullshit, like something they've made up to make people feel less guilty about shagging while they're knocked up, but oh- _Christ_ , Harry's found his prostate at last, and that is just - a lot. 

"Fuck," he mumbles, grabbing Harry's hand. "Fucking god. Yeah. Keep- right there." 

"Right there?" Harry breathes, working his hips. 

Nick's breathless. His dick's hard, snugged up tight against the bottom of his belly, aching. "Yeah." 

Harry slides his hand up Nick's belly, a slow drag that makes Nick shudder, tighten up around him. He's too far gone to care about it all, about the way he can't stand his stupid body right now. Harry makes it feel so good. 

"Mm," Harry mumbles, nuzzling the back of his neck, just as his hand cups Nick's nipple, thumb skimming gently over the skin as it hardens. 

"Oh - fuck," Nick chokes out, shuddering. 

"Not- not?" 

"No, s'good," Nick says, putting his hand over Harry's. "Just - c-careful." 

Harry rubs his nipple with his thumb, setting off hot sparks down Nick's spine. Nick knows he's sensitive there lately, but no one's taken advantage. No one's touched him at _all_. 

He has to shut his eyes against a prickle of grateful tears.

"Close?" Harry says into Nick's neck, mouth wet. 

"Dunno." Nick lets out a moan when Harry speeds up, thrusts gone shallow and quick and satisfying. "Ho-ly shit, keep on like that." 

Harry grins, a press of teeth against Nick's skin. He moves his hand from Nick's chest to his cock, and Nick grunts in pleasure, hips thrusting up. 

"Yeah," Harry says, satisfied. "You're really hard." 

It's very like Harry, to state facts during sex. _I'm hard. You're hard. You feel good. You're tight. I'm gonna come_. Nick chokes out a laugh. 

"What?" Harry gasps out. 

"Nothing." Nick nearly bites his tongue off when Harry thumbs Nick's slit roughly. "Oh god. Nothing. Make me come. Please. Please make me come." 

Harry's hand tightens, twists, and Nick spills over just like that, making an embarrassing sound high in his throat. He feels it everywhere. Fucking hell, did orgasms always feel like this? Or is it just his current condition? It feels like he comes for _years_. 

Harry strokes him through it, and Nick sags into the bed, panting. 

"Fucking hell," he says weakly. 

"Feel good?" Harry says. His voice is strained. 

"Yeah. Jesus, yeah." 

"Should I, um, should I-" 

"Keep on," Nick says, reaching back to pat at Harry's hip. "It's alright." 

Harry kisses the back of Nick's shoulder. 

"I love you," he says, hips trying out a tentative thrust. Nick winces, exhales slowly. Not _bad_ , that. Not quite as face-meltingly amazing as it was when Nick hadn't yet come, but alright. Comforting, in a weird way. Nick can still do this. His body's still his. 

"Yeah, Haz, alright. Go on, fuck me." 

Harry laughs, choked, and Nick settles in to wait him out, eyes fluttering shut. 

\---

Nick wakes up early to have a wee. Harry's sleeping on his side, a pillow clutched to his chest, and when Nick steps out of the en-suite he watches him for a minute. 

He always feels a bit wobbly after they shag. Even in early days, when Harry was shaky and eager and always up for it, and Nick was supposed to be the smart one, the one who pushed Harry's mouth off when he tried to blow him in the back of a cab, or make sure he didn't leave any visible lovebites. 

There was still always this giddy sort of feeling, afterwards, like Nick had gotten away with something. What he'd gotten away with, he's not sure. Sleeping with a closeted popstar? Sleeping with someone about twelve times fitter than him? But he'd done both those things before. He supposes it was just- Harry. Sleeping with Harry. 

He gets back into bed with his phone, easing down onto the mattress with a pained breath. Harry doesn't wake, just holds his pillow tighter, eyebrows furrowing. 

Nick opens up Twitter. Three tweets down there's a post from Sugarscape, and Nick huffs out a laugh at the headline. 

_AWW, TOO CUTE: HARRY STYLES & GRIMMY CAUGHT HAVING A CHEEKY SNOG!! _

Nick clicks the link. Of course he does, he's not made of steel. 

_Oh my god! Daddies-to-be Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles were caught tooootally full-on snogging in Camden's Eros Burger yesterday. The pair went out for lunch after Grimmy's last Breakfast Show for a while (SNIFF! MISS YA ALREADY, GRIMBLES!) and Harry couldn't resist planting a wet one on his baby-daddy._

_We know everyone was all WTF when Hazza announced he was the father of Grimmy's mystery baby a few weeks ago, but we at Sugarscape are FULLY on board. We can't wait to see how adorable Baby Gryles is - the girl has some killer genes - and the couple is being oh-so-cute now that Harry's back in town. PDA is back in style(s), y'all! Check out the ADORABLE photos below!!_

Nick snorts, scrolls down with his thumb and recoils at the first photo. Oh fucking _god_ , he's massive. Like a giant beached whale, and Harry is a kindly deep-sea diver taking pity on him and giving him mouth-to-mouth.

The next one's even worse. Nick pulls a face. 

The third one's zoomed in so you can't see their bodies, just their faces, mouths pressed together. Eyes closed. 

Nick looks at that one for a long time. 

It's a bit mad, to see that. A photo of him and Harry kissing. In public. In a fucking tabloid. 

Nick blinks, his breath gone heavy, catching in his throat. It's been years. It's been fucking years that he's kept it quiet. It became instinct after a while. 

There was this bloke Nick saw for a while, right after Harry left on his third stadium tour. His name was Lucas and he was a photographer and he tried to kiss Nick, once, when they were at a fashion event, drinking champagne and being photographed.

Nick didn't let him. Nick avoided his mouth with a bland smile and Lucas laid into him later, when they were alone at Nick's flat. Nick still remembers his face, flushed with anger, and the way he backed Nick up against the kitchen counter. 

"I'm not in the closet, and you're definitely not in the fucking closet, so why are you acting like we are?" he'd said, low and furious. "You embarrassed of me?" 

"We're not even proper dating!" Nick had snapped, feeling cornered, and Lucas' face had gone white, and then they weren't dating at all, properly or otherwise.

God, Harry's fucked him up. Nick feels a rush of that familiar helpless anger, the masochistic feeling of knowing Harry was going to hurt him and wanting it anyway. He looks at the photo on his phone again, at Harry's soft closed eyes and his mouth on Nick's. 

He looks like he's in love. 

Nick swallows unsteadily, puts the phone down. 

Harry stirs behind him, and Nick hears him yawn, jaw cracking. 

"Nick?" he mumbles. "You up?" 

"Yeah," Nick says back, and the next minute he's got a popstar pressed all along his back, hand sliding under his shirt and stroking his stomach. 

Harry hums in his ear. "Morning." 

"G'morning, Styles." Nick angles his head back and Harry takes the hint, kisses his mouth. 

"How is she?" he says, hand flat to Nick's belly, fingertips pressing gently into the skin. He's so into it, now that he's got permission to touch. He touches Nick more than Nick touches himself.

"She's good, love. She's good." 

"And how're you?" 

Nick snorts. "I'm fine, Hazza. How are you? Is this a thing, now? Little morning check-in?" 

Harry pouts against the back of his neck. "Lots of people ask each other how they are in the morning. S'just polite."

"It'd be more polite to get into the kitchen and make me breakfast."

Harry kisses under his ear. "Last night was good." 

"It was," Nick admits, eyes fluttering shut when Harry noses at his neck, presses his teeth in gently. "Haz, I have to piss and I'm starving, I'm not up for round two." 

Harry sucks a bite into the crook of his shoulder, as penance. 

"Hey," he says. "I meant to ask. I was going to have dinner, here, with, like. You know. The lads."

Nick tenses up. 

"I mean, if it's alright," Harry adds. "Was going to cook and everything. I, uh, I haven't seen them in a while. Was thinking, uh… tomorrow night?" 

Nick coughs. "Yeah, of course, Haz. That sounds nice. Little reunion." 

It doesn't, at all, if he's honest. Luckily he's not honest.

"Thanks, Grim," Harry says, sounding like he's smiling, sitting upright behind him and rubbing his palm over Nick's hip. "Alright. You go take a wee. I'll make eggs." 

"Sounds like a plan," Nick says, waiting until Harry bounces out of the room before he touches the lovebite on his neck with two fingers, the skin hot and damp. He lets out a wobbly breath, and pushes himself out of bed. 

\---

"Well, alright. So Niall was supposed to come, but his niece is getting christened this weekend, so he had to head up to Mullingar," Harry says busily, pulling a pan out of the oven the next afternoon. "Zayn's in America with Pezza, and Liam's, like, in Wolverhampton, I think..." 

"So it's just Tomlinson," Nick finishes, uneasily. 

Harry looks at him. "That's alright, isn't it?" 

"Course!" Nick chirps, forcing a smile. "S'great!" 

Christ, if Gemma was angry, Nick can't imagine Louis' wrath. 

"He's really excited," Harry says. "Like, we haven't seen each other in months. Here, try this." 

He lifts a wooden spoon to Nick's mouth.

"God, that's good," Nick says, licking his lips. Harry smiles. "What's that?" 

"Tomato cream sauce," Harry says. "Chicken's just out the oven, that'll go on the pasta as well. Sound good?" 

"Yes, love, sounds incredible. Since when can you cook?" 

Harry pulls a face at him. "Here," he says, dipping the spoon back into the sauce. Nick takes the bite gladly. He's a bit starving, as always, and Louis' not coming over til seven, so. 

Nick leans against the counter, makes puppy-eyes, and Harry sighs fondly before he saws off a bite of chicken, dips it in the sauce, feeds it to Nick.

"One more," Nick says, still chewing, and Harry ducks his head to hide the grin on his face. Nick can see it peeking out. 

"There you are, you bloody toddler," Harry says, his eyes on Nick's mouth as Nick takes the last bite off the fork in Harry's hand. "Now get out the kitchen til he comes." 

Nick leans in to kiss Harry's cheek. Maybe dinner won't be that bad. Sure, he's never technically spent time with Louis Tomlinson, but that doesn't mean it has to be weird. 

That illusion lasts til about ten minutes in, when Harry scoops a generous serving of salad on Nick's plate and Louis says, taking a sip of wine, "So, Haz, you done a paternity test yet?" 

Harry looks at Louis, eyes widening like he's watching the start of a car accident. "Lou." 

"Just as a precaution, like," Louis says cheerily, a razor's edge in his voice. "I mean, no offense, Grimshaw."

Nick huffs out a disbelieving laugh. Shakes his head. 

"Louis, don't," Harry says, low. 

"It's not an insult," Louis says. His eyes are lazy, unbothered, but he won't stop watching Nick. "I mean, if you've got nothing to hide, why would you be bothered?" 

Nick resists the urge to shove the table over and smack Louis across the face. No, Nick. Lady-like. What would Beyonce do? She would rise above. 

"Think I've got something to hide?" he says, mildly. 

Louis's mouth curls up at Nick taking the bait. "You've been looking for an excuse to get Harry to pay attention to you for what, five years now? Seems like a good one. Just saying, mate. _Quite_ convenient."

Nick bares his teeth. Maybe that whole pushing the table and smacking thing isn't such a bad idea. 

"Louis, bloody stop," Harry says hoarsely. "Alright? Can we just have dinner without you doing this? Jesus, I haven't seen you in nine months." 

"I'm not the one who's been on a bloody private island." 

"Well, you could've come to see me, couldn't you have," Harry says sourly. "Niall came down. Liam came down." 

Nick looks down into his salad. He didn't know any of Harry's bandmates went to visit him. He didn't know _anyone_ went to visit him.

"Ah, yes, Liam, the person I'd most love to see in the world," Louis snaps. 

"Don't tell me you're still angry with him." 

"We didn't all run away from our problems, Harry," Louis says, a muscle in his jaw clenching visibly. 

Harry's voice trembles. "I didn't run away." 

"Some of us bloody _stuck around_  to deal with the fact that we fucking fell apart!" Louis says, voice rising. "You always said you cared about us, but you didn't, did you, cos as soon as it got rough, you fucked off." 

"That's not _true_ ," Harry chokes out. 

"I don't give a fucking shit if it's true or not," Nick says, voice louder than he expected, his pulse rushing hot and furious. "Save it for therapy, Tomlinson. We're having fucking dinner, and you're a fucking guest, so just bloody _save it_." 

Louis goes wild-eyed with rage for a split second, and then shuts it down, his face smoothing out. It's wildly impressive, and also terrifying. 

Harry looks at Nick wide-eyed for a long moment, and then says, slowly, "Um, so. Do - do you like the chicken? Louis?" 

Nick laughs. Louis rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt. 

"Jesus, Harry, don't do that thing where you pretend everything's fine." 

"I was just asking," Harry mutters. He's blinking down at his plate like he's going to cry. Nick knows if he cries, Louis'll be on it like a shark smelling blood in the water.

"Haz," Nick says quickly. "You know what. Why don't you go out and grab dessert. I'm still pretty hungry." 

Harry sniffles. "But we've got dessert already," he mumbles. "Ice cream."

"Uhh, ice cream sauce, then," Nick says, floundering. "Chocolate. I'm like _utterly_ craving it right now. Please, love." 

Louis' watching him suspiciously. 

Harry draws in a shaky breath. 

"Pleaaase," Nick repeats, squeezing Harry's hand on the tabletop. "I need it." 

Harry huffs out a grudging laugh. "You don't need it." 

"Scuse me, yes I do. The baby needs it. C'mon, just pop out to the shops, _please_." 

Harry laughs again, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Fine," he says, scraping his chair back. "I'll- I'll be back in, like, ten. Just chocolate? Lou, you - uh, want anything?"

Louis shakes his head. 

Harry leans over to give Nick a kiss on the cheek. Nick goes red at the way Louis is watching them coolly. "See you in a bit." 

"Thanks, love, see you in a bit," Nick echoes, and Harry slips his boots on, grabbing his jacket. The front door slams, and Nick exhales. 

Louis laughs sourly. " _Literally_ running away. Fucking classic." 

"Give him a bloody break," Nick snaps back. 

They stare at each other warily for a minute, and then Nick scrapes his chair back, heaves himself to his feet. 

"What kind of ice cream do you fancy?" he says over his shoulder, carrying his plate into the kitchen. If Harry's going to pretend everything's normal, Nick'll follow suit. Maybe that's just the best tactic for cooling Louis down. Nick wouldn't know. 

"Don't care," Louis says back, sourly. 

"We've got vanilla, chocolate, some mint chip- could do all three if you like-" 

He's startled out of his list by Louis pulling his chair back, standing up, still staring at Nick. 

"Um," Nick says, his back against the kitchen counter. "We might have some soy vanilla, too, in the back-" 

"Shut up," Louis snaps, coming closer. "I'm not gonna get another chance to say this, so. You know what, Nick? You know what? No one's fucking alright with what you did. No one except Harry has forgiven you for what you did." 

Nick holds eye contact with him, trying not to look as scared as he feels. 

"What you did was bloody sick," Louis says, with a disgusted curl to his mouth. "Not telling him for so long. Like some weird powerplay, like- like he didn't deserve to know. You know what it's like to grow up without a bloody _dad_? And you were just gonna let it happen-" 

"I've told him it was a mistake," Nick says, voice weak. "We've talked about it-" 

"Yeah, yeah, you're playing happy families now, I get it, you're both pretending it didn't happen," Louis says, laughing bitterly. "But you know what?" 

He takes a step closer, lifts his chin and says, precisely, "Harry deserves so. much. better than you." 

Nick almost laughs. Does Louis think he doesn't _know_ that? 

"Thanks," he says. "Very sweet, Tomlinson. D'you feel better? Got that off your chest?" 

"I'm not bloody finished," Louis spits. "Harry's stuck with you now, so we're all going to make the best of it, because that's what _adults_ do. But you should know, Nick, no one's forgiven you. I never fucking will." 

Oh shit oh shit, Nick's going to cry. He draws in a long breath, tries not to let it shake, keeps his jaw clenched as tight as possible. 

He wants to say something, but if he opens his mouth he knows he'll sob, and he can't. He can't. 

"Just hope you don't fuck with that kid's head because you've obviously got some issues of your own," Louis says nastily, his eyes flashing. 

"Alright," Nick says, faintly, and he turns around to face the counter, squeezes his eyes shut tight. His hands are trembling. 

After a minute, Louis walks away, comes back with his and Harry's plates, puts them into the sink. Nick's eyes are burning, and he's scooping the softened ice cream into bowls, one scoop of vanilla, one scoop of chocolate, one scoop of mint in each. He can't stop shaking. 

The front door opens, and Nick looks up, scared, hurriedly swipes at his eyes. 

"I'm back!" Harry announces, coming in with a Tesco carrier bag, his face flushed with cold. 

Nick turns around, forces a smile. Louis' sat at the table, flicking irritably through his phone, but he looks up at Harry and smiles too. 

"Chocolate sauce," Harry says, smiling wanly at him. "For Nicholas." 

"Thank you, love," Nick says, taking it, even though he can't imagine a thing he wants less in the world right now. 

"And I got some caramel for you, Lou, isn't that still your favorite?" 

"Thanks, Haz, but I actually have to run," Louis says, sticking his phone into his pocket. "Soz. El just called, she's having car trouble, I gotta go pick her up." 

"But - like, we haven't had ice cream," Harry says, wide-eyed. "Just send a car!" 

"Not gonna just _send a car_ to pick up my girlfriend in the middle of bloody winter," Louis says, rolling his eyes and standing up. "I'll see you soon, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Harry says, biting his lip. "Alright." 

"Don't get that look, Hazza," Louis says, giving Harry a rough squeeze around the shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek. "I've just got to go. We'll talk later." 

Harry nods, glancing over at Nick, looking wobbly.

"Thanks for having me," Louis says, fumbling with his shoes. "Thanks, Nick."

Nick nods, numbly, and a minute later the door's slamming firmly shut behind him. 

Harry sets the contents of the bag on the countertop, humming to himself. Ignoring the whole thing. Maybe Louis had a point, about Harry running from his problems. As much as Nick would hate to admit it. 

"Oh, did you already scoop his?" Harry says, leaning over and noticing the bowls. "Reckon you can finish it? Bowl for the baby?" 

He smiles at Nick, kisses his shoulder, and Nick smiles weakly back. 

"Probably," he says, even though his stomach aches. "Haz, you know - you know I'm sorry, right? About not telling you? You know it doesn't mean I, like, don't- don't care about you-" 

"Of course I know that," Harry says, looking concerned. "We've gone over this, we- it's all settled, Nick. We’ve talked about this." 

"Yeah." Nick sucks in a breath, makes his mouth curve upwards again. "Yeah, I know. Sorry." 

"Why're you -" Harry stops, and his face changes. "Oh, shit. Shit. Louis said something to you while I was gone, didn't he?" 

"No, it's fine," Nick says, brightly, but his voice breaks mid-sentence. He coughs, trying to keep it together. 

"What'd he say," Harry breathes. "Nick. Love." 

"He didn't - he didn’t say anything that wasn't true," Nick chokes out, and oh, sod it, he's going to fucking cry. At least Louis is gone. He puts his hands on the counter, braces himself, a sob pushing at his throat. 

"Oh god." Harry puts an arm around his back. "Oh god. Grim, don't, it's alright." 

"I'm just really _sorry_ ," Nick gasps out, and the sob breaks free, makes his back heave. He puts his hand over his face and Harry pulls him closer, fiercely, sliding his hand around Nick's chest, holding him tight. 

"Nick," he says, quietly, stroking Nick's back. "It's okay." 

"It's not, though," Nick garbles out, voice thick. "It's really not. And Louis' right, she's gonna have issues, because I'm so - so fucked-up, I - I should have told you, god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" 

Harry freezes. 

"He said she was going to have issues?" he says, low in his throat. "What the hell does that mean?" 

Shit. Nick's a crybaby and a bloody snitch. 

He wipes his eyes furiously, tries to stop crying. 

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, it's nothing. I'm fine." 

"Tell me exactly what he said," Harry says, still sounding low and fierce. "Nick." 

" _Nothing_ ," Nick breathes out, and he starts to cry again. When did he get so bad at lying to Harry? He used to lie straight to Harry's face, every time Harry left for tour. He lied to him for eight _months_ of being pregnant, and now he can't keep it together for three seconds. It's awful. 

"Listen, I'm not mad, okay, I just need to know," Harry says, softly. "I really need to know or it's going to make me fucking mental. Please, Nick." 

Nick drags in a breath, scrubs at his eyes, and Harry lets go of him for a second to fetch a tissue. Nick blows his nose. 

"He just said, he just- said, like, he hasn't forgiven me," Nick says, unsteadily, still feeling like a little kid tattling on the playground. This is so bloody stupid. "That he's never- going to, and no one has except for you and that - that you deserve better, and that she's gonna be fucked up because I've got- got issues." 

He stops, draws in a deep breath. 

"It's okay," he says. "Honestly. I know he's just - angry, I'm fine, Haz, honestly. He's got a right to be angry." 

Harry still has a hand around his back. His grip tightens on Nick's shoulder. 

"I don't care," he says, slowly. "How angry he is. He doesn't get to speak to you like that." 

"Harry-" 

"He doesn't get to bloody say those things to you," Harry says, breathing in hard, voice starting to quiver. "Shit, I hate this." 

"Haz, please-" 

"God, I just- I love you, and he's my oldest mate, and I don't - I don't get why we can't just, like, just forget about all of it, you know?" Harry says, voice going up and down, sounding close to tears. "I just want it to be okay, I want us to- to just be normal."

"It is," Nick says, putting his hand over Harry's hand on his chest, squeezing tight. "Shh, Haz, it's okay-" 

"It's not," Harry mumbles, shaking his head. "It's not okay. I just- I thought everything would be better, when I came back. Easier." 

Nick pulls away from him, tensing up. 

"I don't mean- I don't mean this," Harry chokes out. "I don't mean you. I'm talking about- about the lads, the band, Nick." 

"Alright." Nick leans against the counter. 

"And he's mad at me," Harry says, fumbling for a paper towel and blowing his nose. "Like- like it was my fault what happened with the band. Wasn't my _fault_." 

"Maybe he feels a bit like- like you left him in the lurch, Hazza," Nick says, carefully. "Like you left them to deal with it." 

Harry breathes out roughly. 

"How fucking much of myself am I supposed to give up?" he says, low in his throat. "I wasn't happy. I felt shit. We split up. I needed to get away. What was I supposed to do, stay around and let everyone talk crap about us, answer awkward questions in interviews-" 

"That's what they had to do, Haz," Nick says, low. "You left and they didn't."

"I've taken the bloody heat off them for years now," Harry mutters. "I'm the one who gets linked to every girl I speak with-" 

"They've gotten shit too, Haz, I read the papers." 

"Whose side are you on?" Harry snaps. 

Nick exhales. For some reason, Harry getting angry is making Nick calmer. Like a pendulum or something.

"So there are sides now?" he asks. 

Harry blinks at him pitifully. 

"I'm not saying-" Nick exhales hard. "I'm not saying you ran away. You know I get why you left. You know I understand. It's just that that might not be how - how your mates feel." 

"They always blame me for shit," Harry mutters. "Since we fucking started."

"Jesus, Haz. Bitter's not a good look on you." 

Harry's brow furrows. 

"I'm not bitter." 

Nick sighs. "Alright."

"I'm not - all I'm saying is it's not fair for him to blame me, like, for everything. For us splitting up." 

"I know," Nick says, relenting. Harry's face is twisted up sadly and Nick doesn't feel like debating it anymore. "I know. I'm sorry." 

"And- and for what he said to you. That's not -" 

"I'm fine," Nick says softly. "I really am. People've said worse." 

Harry laughs sourly. "That doesn't make me feel better." 

He slumps against the counter, blinking heavily. 

"Haz," Nick says. "Think you need bed. You're all toddler-y and boneless. I'm not carrying you." 

Harry sticks his fingernail in his mouth to gnaw at, and then all of a sudden presses his face into Nick's shoulder, wraps his arms around him. He squeezes him hard for a good fifteen seconds, lets go. 

"What was that for?" Nick asks, bemused. 

Harry shrugs with one shoulder. "Just - just got to remind myself, y'know. What's important." 

Nick laughs instead of crying. He's good at that. "God, you're so ridiculous." 

Harry sniffs in hard, and slides his hand into Nick's. Walks him into the bedroom, leaving the ice cream and the salad bowl and the dirty dishes in the sink. 

Nick follows, helplessly. He follows Harry to bed and lies down beside him and by the time he's nearly asleep, on his side with Harry passed out in front of him, he can almost forget the things Louis said.

 _No one's forgiven you. Obviously got some issues of your own_. 

Nick lets out a strangled breath and puts a pillow over his head.

\---

Harry turns twenty-four on a chilly damp Thursday. 

"What d'you want to do, popstar?" Nick asks, late that morning. They're lazing around in bed, eating breakfast. Nick's on his third bacon butty, which is a feat he feels he was always capable of but never had the courage or commitment to complete. It's not his fault, anyway, Harry keeps handing them over like he's got a never-ending supply. 

"Mm," Harry says around a mouthful of banana. He swallows. "Dunno. We could just stay in, watch telly. Maybe go over to Gem's." 

Nick tenses up. "You could, maybe," he says. "Have some alone time with your sister. Think she misses you." 

Harry blinks up at him, mouth full. "D'you fink?" 

Nick laughs, reaching out to swipe a crumb off Harry's cheek. "Yeah, Haz. Bet she'd love that. You two should go out. Drink for me, please."

"Alright," Harry says, pulling out his phone and swiping it open. "I'll text her. See what she's up to." 

He starts tapping away, lips pursed. 

"Isn't it weird," he says after a second. Nick's eating from a cup of cubed pineapple, and he looks up, sucking juice off his fingers. "That, like, she had this whole life while I was gone? I mean, we talked, but. Not that often. It's like, sometimes I expected everything to just - freeze, when I left." 

He shakes his head, laughing, still typing. "How bloody selfish does that sound." 

"A tiny bit selfish," Nick says, watching him, wondering not for the first time if Harry's truly as oblivious as he seems. 

Nick was here too, when Harry was gone. Nick had a life too. 

Harry huffs another laugh. "I know. I mean, I couldn't even believe her hair was a different color." 

Nick fakes a laugh. Harry tosses his phone down and looks up, and Nick averts his eyes, puts another piece of pineapple into his mouth. 

"Figure it out?" he says. 

"Yeah, think I'll go over there at six or so," Harry says, smiling at him. "Which isn't for ages. C'mere, back to bed." 

"I'm so full," Nick whines, as Harry sets their plates on the nightstand, tosses a fork onto the carpet. 

"Don't have to move a muscle," Harry promises, kissing his mouth and then his neck. "C'monnn, I'll make it worth your while." 

Nick catches his mouth in a kiss, makes it last, lets Harry's bottom lip go with a soft pop. 

"Yeah?" Harry murmurs into his mouth, his hand sliding to the back of Nick's neck. "Can I, like, can I suck you off?" 

Nick exhales harshly into Harry's mouth. 

"When's the last time you did that?" he breathes. 

"Ages," Harry says bluntly. "But I want to. Birthday present?" 

Nick lets Harry guide him back down onto the bed, keeping him close enough to kiss, sucking at Harry's plump bottom lip until he moans. 

"Well, by all means," Nick says, hoarsely, as Harry crawls down the bed, slides Nick's boxers down his arse and - oh. Jesus. Nick can't see what Harry's doing down there but he can feel it. "If you want to." 

\--

"Okay, but, I don't want to go too girly," Nick says into the phone, at half-seven that night. He's sat on the sofa alone with a cup of tea and a giant bowl of salt and vinegar crisps. Who says pregnant people don't know how to bloody party. "You know? Like, pink's cute, but I don't want it to be, like-" 

"No, of course not, I get that," Daisy says, voice crackly down the line, from all the way in America. "What about a really pale yellow?" 

"Noo, no, it'll look like we meant it to be white but someone's pissed all over it." 

"Why does your brain go there, Nicholas?" Daisy says with a sigh. 

"Cos I'm special and imaginative," Nick answers reflexively, crunching down on a crisp. "What time's it there?" 

Daisy yawns audibly. "Dunno, around noon. I've got a shoot tonight." 

"Sick." Nick fumbles for his tea. "Is it warm there? Palm Springs, sounds like it should be. Palmy and springy." 

"Like 27 degrees." 

"Oh my _god_ ," Nick moans. "Jealous. I'm freezing." 

"Yeah, it's lovely." Daisy sighs again, sounding happy. "The shoot tonight's gonna be in this, like, abandoned pool or something. With floodlights. It looks quite creepy."

"For clothes, or what?" 

"For some local magazine. Not local like Palm Springs, local like California. Heyyy, speaking of, I hear Harry's coming to LA next week. How is the birthday boy?" 

Nick puts his fingernail in his mouth, and then takes it out, and replaces it with a crisp. "He's alright," he says, chewing. "Out with his sister and Lou, I think." 

He hasn't told Daisy, about the things Gemma said at dinner. He hasn't told anyone. 

"I was just a bit knackered today, didn't feel like venturing outside," he says, before Daisy can ask. "And Gemma wanted some alone time with him, I think." 

Daisy hums, but doesn't push. 

"How long will he be out here in California?" 

"Just a couple days." 

"Is he, like, selling his house?" 

"I dunno, exactly. I don't think quite yet. It's not like he needs the cash. He just needs to work some shit out, with his label or whatever. His management." 

"But- but it's also not like he's going to live there any time soon. I mean, you wouldn't move to LA. Would you?" 

Nick stares at the muted telly. 

"I don't want to," he says. "Like I really don't want to." 

"Then bloody don't," Daisy says, surprisingly fierce. "He can't force you. You've got everyone in London, and your family, you can't just, like-" 

"Alright, Daize, I'm not movin'," Nick laughs. "He hasn't even brought it up." 

Daisy quiets down. 

"You alright, Nick?" she asks. "Like, with Harry? Everything's alright?" 

Nick pulls the blanket higher up over his stomach. 

"It's good," he says quietly. "Like it's properly good. I'm - I'm happy, I think."

Daisy hums again. 

"I mean I'm scared," Nick says. "Cos we've got less than two weeks. But he makes me - less scared. Good scared." 

Daisy's quiet for a minute. 

"Want you to be happy, you know that," she says. "And you know I love Harry. I just- d'you remember when you told me, the day you found out?" 

Nick leans his head back, eyes closing. "Yeah." 

"You were so scared," Daisy says softly. "And you knew it was Harry's, and you were scared of that." 

"I was in shock, Daize. Alright? Don't use that against me." 

"I'm sorry. I know." Her voice is tender. "Just don't want you to forget how much of this you've done without him." 

Nick nearly laughs. That's _exactly_ what he wants to forget. 

"I've got to go," he says, swallowing hard. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?" 

"Alright," Daisy murmurs. "You're not angry with me, are you?" 

"Course not." 

"I'm so excited for you and Harry. You know I am." 

"I know, Daize, honestly, I do. I just need to go for a wee and it'll take me a bloody hour to stand up." 

Daisy laughs. "Be careful." 

"I'll exercise extreme caution while urinating, thanks, Dr. Lowe." 

"Love you, babe." 

"Yeah, you too." 

\---

Nick's half-asleep in his armchair when the front door creaks open. Pig lets out a yip, jumps up from where she's been curled faithfully at Nick's feet.

He lifts his head groggily. "Lo?" 

"Shh, sh, Pig, don't wake your dad," Harry says, stumbling into the room with Pig nipping at his heels. "Shh- oh. You're up. Sorry." 

"S'alright," Nick mumbles. "You're here. Thought you were staying at your sister's. Wait, what time is it? It's not _morning_ , is it?" 

"Noo, s'only half ten," Harry says, running a hand through his hair, toeing off his shoes. He pads over to Nick, cheeks flushed from the cold. "And- yeah, was gonna, and then we were heading out to the Standard and I just-" 

He shrugs, unzipping his leather jacket. 

"Just didn't want to be there," he says quietly. "Wanted to be here. And s'my birthday, should get what I want." 

"You're a bit drunk," Nick says softly, laughing. "Aren't you?"

"I'm totally not, pshh. I'm completely not," Harry says, swaying above him. 

Nick chuckles. "Yeah, you're dead sober, sure." 

Harry pouts. "Why're you sleepin' on the chair, love, you'll hurt your back." 

"Help me to bed, then?" Nick asks, and Harry pulls him up with both hands. Nick stumbles into him, catches a whiff of vodka on Harry's breath. 

"You didn't have to come back." 

Harry leans over and kisses him. He tastes like peppermint chewing gum and smells like vodka. A classic night-out combination. 

"I did, though," he says, convinced, holding onto Nick's arm. "Cos I was there, and we were gettin' in the cab, and I just- I just wanted to be here. With you. And her." 

Nick chews his lip. 

"Alright," he says. It's another reason for Gemma to hate him, but oh bloody well. "Let's go to bed then." 

\---

Nick thinks Harry's passed out, curled up on his side facing away from Nick, but then Harry says slowly- 

"C'n I tweet this?" 

He hands his phone over to Nick, and Nick fumbles on the nightstand to put his glasses back on. He peers at Harry's phone. 

_@Harry_Styles: Thanks for all teh birthday wishes. Best birthday gift of all is coming so soon, I can't wait. Xx @grimmers_

Nick reads it four times. 

Harry breathes out slowly, rolls over until he's facing Nick, peering at him with wide dark eyes. 

"Yeah," Nick says, unsteadily. "Go for it. Misspelled 'the' in the first bit though. Fix that, no one'll even know you're pissed." 

Harry smiles at him, slowly, a dimple winking from one cheek. 

"Love you." 

"Love you back," Nick manages to say. He hands Harry's phone off and grabs a pillow, tucking it under his stomach, shifting to get comfortable. Harry rolls onto his back and holds his phone above his head, staring at it intently, tongue peeking out of his mouth. 

Nick watches him for a minute. 

"How long's it take to write _the_?" 

"Shurrup," Harry giggles. 

Nick huffs a laugh, and fumbles for his own phone, props it on his stomach and takes a photo of Harry tweeting with his phone above his face. 

"Heyyyy," Harry says slowly. 

"Just givin' the good people what they want, a behind the scenes look at Harry Styles' tweeting process." 

Harry grumbles, and tosses his phone aside, shuts his eyes with a happy sigh. "There." 

Nick watches him pass out, just like that. Nick's jealous. Takes him about a decade to fall asleep these days, and once he's perfectly comfortable, he usually suddenly needs to wee.

He looks at the photo of Harry. It's quite blurry, nothing too scandalous, and - who cares, anyway, if it were a bit scandalous. S'not a secret. 

Nick opens up Instagram. 

 _HBD HS_ , he types. 

He adds, very slowly, a birthday cake and a drink emoji and a pink sparkly heart. 

Once he hits Send, he puts his phone down, pulls his glasses off and shuts his eyes, lets out a shaky breath. 

It's mad, how far they've come. Harry's last birthday was spent in LA. Nick texted him and Harry responded two days later.

Just mad. Nick reaches out a hand to grasp one of Harry's wrists, and Harry murmurs in his sleep, wriggles closer. 

 _Mine_ , Nick thinks, in a fierce irrational way he'd never admit to in the light of day. He watches Harry's blurry soft face, memorizes it as best he can.  _Mine_. 

\---

"I still think this is weird," Nick says, late on a cold Tuesday night while he's propped up in bed with a magazine and about seven pillows. Harry's leaving the next day for LA, and Nick's trying his hardest not to think about it. "Like, it's weird." 

"Shut up," Harry says, and Nick peers down at him. Harry's lying on the bed with his head on the mattress next to Nick's hip, one of his hands resting against the full curve of Nick's belly. "Don't say she's weird, she'll have low self esteem." 

"I didn't say _she_ 's weird," Nick says, snorting. "I said you're weird. This little nighttime ritual you've got. It's like you're communing with a spirit or summat."

"Like you don't talk to her," Harry scoffs. "I heard you in the toilet the other day. _Please, love, could you stop moving around, I'm trying to have a wee_ -"

"That was practical!" Nick argues. "I can't piss when she's stomping all over my innards." 

"What a pleasant, peaceful image," Harry says, and he leans closer to Nick's stomach, murmurs, "Don't listen to your dad. He's mental. This isn't weird at all, is it?" 

No answer. Harry looks faintly disappointed. 

"It's honestly like you're expecting her to say something," Nick says, and then makes a tiny squeaky voice. "Hiya, Harry! This is pretty bleedin' weird, actually!" 

Harry giggles against Nick's skin, mouth hot and open. "Dooon't, Nick." 

"I'm tryin' t’sleep and you won't stop talkin’ to me!" Nick squeaks. His baby's got a bit of an Irish accent. 

"Why does she sound like Annie Mac?" Harry laughs. 

"Surprise, Annie’s the one who knocked me up, I'm just after your money," Nick says, snorting. 

Harry huffs out a last chuckle and then looks up at Nick, trying to make his face serious. It's pretty ineffective with his dimples still flashing, mouth curving up helplessly, and Nick's heart flip flops at the sight.

"I missed this while I was gone," Harry says. "Like, just talking with you." 

"Don't be cheesy," Nick groans, even though he knows exactly what Harry means. Nick's got a lot of friends, a lot of people he loves, but there was something that snapped into place the first time he met Harry. The way they could go back and forth so easily, chat for hours without Nick getting bored or restless. Easy banter, as Matt would say. 

"Not being cheesy," Harry says. "Just missed you. Not even, like. Even without knowing about her." 

His hand strokes over Nick's stomach. "I just proper missed you."

Nick reaches down, combs his fingers through Harry's hair. 

"Did you, you know," Harry mumbles, pressing his nose against the side of Nick's stomach, voice muffled. "Did you miss me?" 

Nick almost laughs, because Harry has no _fucking_ idea. The nights Nick spent sleepless, the prolonged fantasies he had about Harry coming home to him. The fucking screenshots of his texts. The articles Nick pored over. Every needy stupid thing he did before Harry showed up, and underneath it all the sickening knowledge that every time he looked at his daughter he'd see Harry in her and miss him even more. 

Harry peers up at him, and Nick does laugh. His chest aches. 

"Nick," Harry says. 

"You've got no idea," Nick says, trying to keep his voice light. "You've got no idea." 

"Tell me, then," Harry says softly. 

"God, Haz, let's not," Nick says, shaking his head. "You don't want to see how fucking mental I was. We're past all that." 

"Yeah I do," Harry says, low. "I want to see everything." 

Nick reaches down again, cups Harry's jaw. Fucking crafted by the gods, is Harry's face. It's madness. His cheekbones, his generous mouth. 

"Nick," Harry murmurs, turning his head to kiss Nick's palm. 

"So much fucking time spent thinking about how much she was going to look like you," Nick says, quietly. "Every single sonogram, just trying to lay your face over my face, imagine what she'd look like." 

Harry stares at him, and Nick takes his hand off Harry's face. 

"You know that letter you wrote, the one we talked about," he says, and Harry's eyes twitch away. He swallows audibly. 

"Yeah," he mumbles. 

"Read it nearly every night in, like, October. Like a hundred times. Knew it by heart, pretty much." He puts on a Harry voice. " _Don't know how long it'll be until I'm ready to be with someone,_ blah blah blah-" 

"Nick." 

"It's alright. It's fine. I just- I just made up this whole story in my head, of you on some tropical island with all these fit girls around you, not thinking of me-" 

"I thought of you," Harry breathes out. 

"- and just, like. It was hard, I dunno. It was really hard. It was shit." 

He stops before his voice cracks, lets out a long breath. Harry leaves Nick's stomach behind, crawls up until they're face to face, his nose inches from Nick's. 

"So, like," he says, voice low and fierce. "Like I said. We fucked up. We fucked up a little bit. I sent that stupid letter and you didn't tell me about her and we - we both, just, we fucked up." 

His breath smells like mint and his eyes are watery and Nick stares at him helplessly. 

"But we've got it now," Harry whispers. "We're doing it all right, now. And god, Nick, I'm so sorry you were lonely, I hate that-" 

"Wasn't lonely," Nick says defensively, even though of fucking course he was. 

"- alone, I mean, missed me, or whatever, m'sorry. But we're gonna do it properly, now, you know? And honestly, things'll be ugly for a while. Maybe for always. People are going to be awful and I - I hate that, you know? I hate that - that the fact that it's me is going to make everything worse for you." 

"Don't be stupid," Nick says harshly. "It's not your fault. We've gone over this a million times." 

"It is a little bit, though," Harry says, with a shrug, his face sad. "Because I chose to, you know-"

"Be mega famous?" Nick says, huffing a laugh. "Have someone build a shrine to your sick?"

"You're never getting over that," Harry laughs, leaning in, kissing Nick's mouth. 

"Never." 

Harry kisses him again, and Nick opens up to it, lets Harry suck gently at his bottom lip. A slow romantic kind of kiss. Some nights, Nick didn't think he'd ever have that again. 

"It'll be shit for a while," Harry says against Nick's mouth. "And I wanna apologize for it now, because as bad as it's been so far, with the paps, and the magazines- and I've seen it now, I've caught up, and people have been fucking awful to you-" 

That makes Nick panicky, for some reason, the thought that Harry's seen all the bloody tabloids from the past eight months. The speculation, the unflattering pap shots, the accusations that he'd been drinking or smoking (untrue), the barbed suggestions that he'd been working too hard for a pregnant person (maybe true), the allegations that the father was none other than popstar Harry Styles (very, very true). Every mean-spirited thing in the Mirror or full-length spread in the Daily Mail analyzing how big he'd gotten. Sugarscape's face-smashes of him with Harry, Zac Efron, Douglas Booth, Jared Leto... 

He knows all that wasn't private, and yet somehow he forgot that Harry, like, knew how to use the Internet. 

“It’ll get worse,” Harry says. He looks sad. “And that part’s my fault.”

Nick chews his lip. 

"Let's not - think about it," he says decisively. 

Harry rolls his eyes tiredly. "Why's that your solution for everything?" 

"I'm emotionally stunted and Northern," Nick answers reflexively. "We shove our feelings away and drink beer and then like, garden really aggressively. At least that's what my dad does." 

Harry laughs, leaning in to kiss him. "And you're exactly like your dad."

"Pretty much." 

"Well, Pete, let's avoid the subject and go to bed, then."

Nick wrinkles his nose. "Ugh, not into that role-play, Styles-" 

"Shut it," Harry snorts, as Nick slides down from his pillow throne into bed. "I'll wake you up before I leave." 

"Yeah," Nick says sleepily. "You'd better." 

Harry kisses his shoulder, and turns the light out. 

\---

Harry leaves early. _Early_ -early, earlier than Nick gets up now that he's not on the show. 

Nick rouses himself, sits up in bed, blinking heavily as Harry dashes around stuffing shit into his case. 

"You're gonna miss your flight," he observes, checking the time on his phone. 

"Sod off, please," Harry says, breathing hard as he fumbles through Nick's closet, one sock on and his jeans unzipped. "I'm taking this shirt with me." 

"Fine. But don't leave it in LA." 

His throat closes up a bit as he says it, and he drops his gaze to the crumpled duvet in his lap. He knows it's only three days. He knows Harry has to go, to sort his life out before the baby's here. 

It's just. Shit. Nick hugs a pillow to his chest. 

Harry shoves the shirt into his bag and pulls his other sock on. 

"Hey," he says, putting his hair up into a hasty bun, coming over to Nick on the bed. He sits there, next to Nick, his weight dipping the bed. He smells like Nick's aftershave. "I'll be back on the 8th." 

Nick nods, and Harry takes the pillow out of his arms and kisses his mouth gently, sliding his hand around to the back of Nick's neck. Nick has to swallow against a stupid rush of tears. Harry's left him like this so many times before. Early flight, rushing around putting clothes on, a kiss on the mouth, a pat on the head. It's giving Nick awful deja vu.

"Wait for me," Harry says, low. 

"Yeah. We've - we've got loads of time, haven't we, sprout." 

"Yeah, loads of time," Harry repeats, voice hoarse. He leans down to kiss Nick's stomach over the t-shirt. "I'll be back so soon." 

"I know." 

Harry lets out a long breath, and his phone blares from the dresser, volume turned all the way up from his attempt to wake himself up early. 

Harry grabs it. "It's the car." 

"Go on," Nick says, waving him off. 

Harry clicks the phone off without answering it, leans down and kisses Nick again. 

"Be careful." 

"Not planning on moving. Don't worry." 

Harry makes a sound like a laugh, distracted. He shoves his phone in his pocket and kicks on his boots. 

"You be careful too," Nick says, watching him. "Yeah?" 

"Of course." Harry slings his bag over one shoulder, exhales slowly, unsteadily. "Shit. Okay. I'm going." 

He ducks back down and kisses Nick one more time. Nick pushes him away with a hand in the center of his chest. 

" _Go_." 

"I know." Harry tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and looks at him, a long once-over. Nick goes red. "Love you." 

Nick pulls the pillow over his chest again. "Love you too." 

Harry smiles like Nick knew he would. All dimply and pleased. It's mad that Nick saying it can make Harry so happy. "See you soon." 

"Yeah." 

He grabs his other bag, and nudges the door open. 

Nick listens to his footsteps down the hall, and then the slam of the front door. 

He eases back down into bed, pulling the duvet up to his neck. Shuts his eyes. He's planning on sulking for a while, but he must've been more tired than he thought, because instead he just falls asleep. 

\---

He wakes up to three missed calls from Aimee and a text from Harry that just says: _I love you. Be safe. Back in 72 hours. X_

Nick lets out a choked breath, and startles when the phone buzzes in his hand. Aimee. 

"Hello?" 

"Oh my god, I thought you were dead." 

"Don't be stupid, it's only like - oh, whoa. It's half one?" 

"Yeah!" Aimee says, laughing. "Which is why I thought you were dead! Did Harry leave?" 

Nick sighs pitifully. "Yeah." 

"I'm coming over," Aimee declares. "And I'm bringing sandwiches." 

Nick smiles. "Yeah. Good. I want ham and cheddar." 

"Alright, princess. Be there in fifteen." 

\---

Nick tosses the crust of his toastie aside, rubbing his stomach. He shifts upright on the sofa, uncrossing his legs, groaning. Bloody everything's uncomfortable right now. He's got weird stabby stomach cramps and his feet hurt and he's really, really sick of - 

Oh, fuck. 

Nick looks down at the sofa - his lovely leather sofa - which is now sporting a dark sodden wet patch under where he was sitting. Oh Christ. Nick's pissed on a sofa before, but he was about nineteen and so wasted he couldn't get up and go to the toilet. That was innocent youthful madness. This is just embarrassing. 

"Aims?" he calls. 

"Yeah?" She sticks her head in, hands wet and soapy. 

Nick looks up guiltily. "Remember that time you took a shit in the tub because you were really drunk and I was asleep on the toilet, and I never made fun of you or told anyone and you owe me?" 

Aimee narrows her eyes. "Um, I remember you _absolutely_  telling people and making fun of me for like six years, Nick. Including telling Ian when we'd been dating for like two weeks." 

"Well, forget that bit. I think I just pissed myself." 

Aimee's eyebrows raise, and she comes into the room, shaking her hands to dry them off. "Are you serious?" 

"I don't knowww, I think so," Nick whines, pushing himself to his feet with difficulty. "I didn't think I was, but-"

"Nick," Aimee says, peering down at the sofa. "Are you sure that's piss?" 

Nick turns to look at it and feels a rush of liquid down his leg, warm and wet. He gags. It feels _disgusting_. 

"Oh my god," he says, and Aimee looks at his legs, her eyes going wide. 

"Oh shit," she breathes. "Oh shit, Nick, I think your water just broke." 

"No bloody way," Nick chokes out, looking up at her.

"That's not piss," Aimee says shakily. "That's definitely not - oh my god, we have to get to the hospital." 

"No!" Nick snaps. "No! I'm not going to the hospital, don't be stupid. It's not- it's not for a whole week. A whole _eight days_." 

"Do you have a bag?" Aimee says, running a hand through her hair. "What am I saying, of course you don't have a bag. Fucking procrastinator. Oh god, okay, ohhh god. Okay, I'll just go pack one for you. You want your Topman cardigan? Is it weird to bring a cardigan?" 

She dashes out of the room, still babbling to herself, and Nick clutches his stomach, knees shaking.  _Hold on_ , he thinks. _Just calm down, sprout, go back to sleep_. 

"It's not happening, Aims, okay," he calls, desperately. "Harry's in fucking LA. He's on the plane to LA. This isn't happening without him. False alarm." 

"Babe," Aimee says, coming back into the room, breathing hard. "I know you're freaked out, but it is happening. That's what that means. Have you been, like, having any contractions?" 

"D'those feel like stomach cramps?" Nick says, pitifully. 

"Yeah, Nick, they feel kind of like cramps." 

Nick draws in a breath. 

"Maybe a bit," he says. "But not that bad!" 

"Just stay there, okay? Stay there. I'll get your things. It'll be fine. Breathe." 

Nick sits back down on the wet sofa - don't matter at this point, does it - and puts his hand over his face. 

Harry was going to do everything on Thursday, when he got back. Pack the hospital bags and arrange someone to take Pig and fill up the car and set up the crib and - and- 

Nick chokes out a gasp. This can't be fucking happening. 

He fumbles for his phone and calls Harry. No answer. Of course, because he's on a bloody plane. 

"Ohh, fuck," he mutters, clutching the phone as a cramp passes through his stomach - a _cramp_ , not a contraction, he's not calling anything a contraction until a bloody doctor confirms it. He once saw Aimee puke down the sleeve of her jacket while in line at a McDonald's, what the hell does she know about health. "Ohh fucking - _ow_." 

"Okay," Aimee gasps, bursting back into the room. "Okay, I got- clothes, and a blanket, for - for the-" 

"Don't say it," Nick grits out. "I'm not in labor."  

Aimee huffs out a sigh. "And some clothes for her, and- and like, what else do you need? Food? Do you need food? I'll get food." 

Nick's clutching the side of the sofa so hard his knuckles have gone white. 

"Aims," he calls into the kitchen, voice cracking with effort. "Can you- can you- _ohh_ bloody hell. Fucking cunting shit that hurts." 

\---

Ian shows up two minutes later, wild-eyed and panting like he'd run all the way from his house.

"Are you having her?" he shouts, first thing. "Are you in labor? Are you crowning?" 

"Fucking shut up!" Nick moans, still sitting on the sofa, head tipped back. He's breathing really hard, which is stupid, considering he's not moving a muscle. "Aimee, get him to shut up!" 

"Shut up, please, babe," Aimee says, slinging a bag over Ian's shoulder and pecking him on the mouth. "He's freaking out." 

"I am not, you cow."

"Hey," Aimee says sternly, coming over to Nick and offering him a hand. "No calling me names, I'm not the one who knocked you up. C'mon, let's get to the hospital." 

"Harry," Nick says, desperately. "Shit, Aims, he's on a plane. He might miss it. He- he's not supposed to miss it." 

"We'll figure it out later," Aimee says, pulling him upright. "Right now you need to have a fucking baby." 

"But he's not supposed to miss it!" Nick chokes out, staggering to his feet. The cramp's passed but everything feels - strange. Uneasy. Shit. Maybe it is really happening.

"Come on, babe, put your jacket on," Aimee says firmly. "We'll text him in the car."

\---

"Okay, so, that's Jane sorted. Now - now do Harry's text. First of all, just say - _Hi love_ -" 

"Hi love," Ian mutters to himself, typing on Nick's phone. Aimee's driving, foot pressed on the accelerator, and Nick's lying in the backseat dictating text messages.

"Hi love, I'm going to the hospital. Water maybe broke and am maybe having contractions." 

"Leave out the maybes, he's definitely fucking having contractions." 

"Don't leave out the fucking maybes, Ian!" Nick yells, kicking the back of Aimee's seat. "Cow!" 

Aimee doesn't take her eyes off the road but she raises her middle finger at him. Nice thing to do, when Nick's (maybe) in bloody _labor_. 

"Um, okay," Ian says. "What then?" 

"Aimee's taking me. Going to Portland. We'll keep you updated." 

"... keep - you - updated," Ian mumbles, fingers tapping on the screen. 

"And then say, like, I'm fine, and that I love him." 

"Fine?" Aimee snorts, peeling away as the light turns green. 

"Shut up, I'm perfectly composed," Nick says. "Are we fucking there yet?" 

"Is that all? Just I love you?" Ian asks. 

"Uhhh, yeah. Wait, no. Put a red heart emoji and a baby and the one of the-" 

"Absolutely fucking not," Aimee barks, reaching over Ian to grab the phone. "You are not sending emojis when you're about to go into labor. Harry'll think you're _kidding_." 

Nick whines, and then a contraction hits, and he can't think of a good comeback because his whole bloody body is on fire. He groans, grabbing for the door handle, eyes clenching shut.

"Okay, um, I can put the emojis back in if you want-" Ian says nervously. "Or- or not?" 

Nick tries to scream but he's got no air. It just comes out as a squeak. He's going to die. He's pretty sure this is it, right now, in the back of a car. He always thought it'd be more glamorous. Like in Ibiza or something. On a boat.

Aimee hits the gas pedal determinedly, and Ian reaches back to give Nick his phone. Nick grabs his hand _hard_ , and the phone drops on the floor, bouncing under the seat. 

"Oh- uh. Alright," Ian says, sounding utterly terrified. His hand's sweating but it's something solid to grab onto. Nick squeezes it as tight as he can, head bursting with pain. "Alright. You're alright. Breathe, Nick, do- do your breathing things. We're almost there. Almost there." 

 


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes up slowly. For a second everything's bliss, white and dreamy and soft, and then his headache pops in and it feels like the worst hangover ever. His whole body is throbbing. 

He turns his head gingerly to the side. Someone's sat in a chair against the wall, scrolling through their phone. Blurry brown hair, jeans, pale face- 

"Harry?" he says hopefully, and it comes out almost completely inaudible. 

The face looks up, though, and sharpens into focus as it comes closer, and - oh. That's not Harry. That's- 

"Jane," Nick mumbles, watching her. His limbs feel like lead. 

"Hi, love," Jane says, putting her arm out, touching his hand. Her eyes are red around the edges and the sight makes Nick feel a flutter of panic, far off and vague. "Hi, Nicky. How d'you feel?" 

 _Quite shit, actually_ , he wants to say, but instead he falls asleep again. 

\---

The next time he wakes up is only for a minute. He barely even opens his eyes, but he knows he's awake, because he can feel his heart beating slow and he can feel the pain again, distant and looming. 

"-perfectly normal for him to be out for this long, he's exhausted-" a voice says, and another snaps back, "I don't _care_ what's perfectly normal!" 

Nick sinks back into sleep, unbothered.

\---

The third time, he's slightly more human-feeling, and he actually opens his eyes for a minute or two, blinking up at a white ceiling. 

A face swims in his vision, leaning over him, and - oh. That's Harry. Harry's here.

Nick tries to smile. "Haz," he says, voice all whispery. 

"He's awake," Harry says to someone, lifting his head, and then his face is back in front of Nick's, blurry and soft and lovely.

"Hi, Grim, can you hear me?" Harry whispers.

Nick nods sleepily. His eyes are fluttering shut again but he forces them open, because Harry's here. 

"Good," Harry says, reaching out and touching Nick's face. His fingers feel cold. "Good." 

Nick shuts his eyes, just for a minute. Harry's hand feels nice. Soothing.

"Babe?" Harry says, a little louder. "You awake?"

Babe reminds him of baby which reminds him of-

Nick opens his eyes, his heart giving a kick of panic in his chest. 

"Is she alright?" he says, tongue stumbling over itself, making it come out slurred. "Is she alright?" 

Harry takes Nick's hand. 

"She's fine, Grim, she's perfect," he says, eyes all blurry and wet in his already blurred face. Nick blinks a couple times, wills himself to focus. "She's so beautiful." 

"I want to see her now," Nick decides, and when he tries to move he hears a few warning voices and then Harry's pressing him flat, his hands gentle on Nick's chest. 

"Careful, Grim," he says, low, eyes burning into Nick's. "No moving just yet, love, alright, you'll tear your stitches, okay? Shh, now." 

"I want to _see her_ ," Nick mutters, not really fighting Harry's grip. His head aches. Stitches? Why would he have stitches? That wasn't ever discussed. 

"You can," Harry says placatingly. "You will. It's alright, just keep still, okay?" 

Nick tries to nod but his head won't move. 

"Yeah," he says faintly. 

"She's perfect," Harry whispers. "She's so perfect."

Nick's fading. He crawls his hand towards Harry's on the bedspread, tries to grasp his fingers. Harry takes his hand. 

"You're gonna be alright," he murmurs. "I promise, Nick. We'll - we'll get her in here, okay? Everyone's here. It's gonna be alright. God, I fucking love you. It's alright." 

"He's out," another voice says, but Nick can't defend himself because he's sinking back into blackness. 

\---

Nick meets his daughter for the first time about twelve hours after she's born. 

Well, apparently it's not the first time. Apparently he held her for a second, when he was full of drugs and nearly blacking out from pain and she was fresh out the womb, wailing like a banshee. _Apparently_ he'd said, very loudly so everyone in the room could hear, "Fucking hell, that was inside me!" and then he'd started really properly bleeding and passed out so quick he nearly dropped her. Bit embarrassing, that.

The doctors keep trying to explain exactly what happened, but Nick usually tries to plug his ears during the bit where they describe how something, like, _tore_ , down there, and Nick needed stitches and a shitload of painkillers that knocked him out thoroughly for half a day. So the information's all a bit hazy. Point is, it was all - a false start. A bloody, painful, drugged-up false start. 

This one's for real. 

Harry places her in his arms, his face warm and careful, eyebrows furrowed. The room's empty, cleared-out and hushed. She's in a blue blanket and a tiny white cap and she has a wrinkly pink face and soft closed eyelids and a strong dark brow. Nick _loves_ a strong brow. 

There's a long silence. Nick studies her face with the sort of focus he usually reserves for applying undereye moisturizer or watching a Zac Efron topless scene.

"Nick," Harry says eventually. "Say something." 

Nick shakes his head, not looking up. He can't. His throat doesn't work at the moment. 

Harry scrapes his chair closer to Nick's bedside, and the baby opens her eyes. Dark blue, rare and glistening like the ocean.

"Oh," Nick breathes. He can't keep himself from smiling, all of a sudden, a big grin stretching his face like when he's trying to keep himself from laughing on the radio. 

"Is she awake?" 

Nick nods. 

Harry peers over him. 

"Jesus," he whispers. "Nick. Nick, isn't she perfect." 

Nick nods some more. Maybe he's gone mute. Maybe she took his voice as well as his ability to ever have abs again. Oh, that'll be shit on the radio. The silent DJ. 

"Nick," Harry repeats, breathing out a laugh, putting his hand on Nick's leg. "You're scaring me." 

Nick smiles beatifically. Harry shouldn't be scared. Nick's never been better. He's just mute, now. It's worth it. It's absolutely worth it. 

"She slept in here with you," Harry says, softly. "When you were out. They kept the crib right in here next to your bed." 

Nick nods again. 

"This is the longest I've ever heard you not speak." 

Nick wants to roll his eyes but then he won't be able to see her face for a second and that won't do. 

She blinks up at him curiously, slow and strange but unmistakably human. A real live human being. Fucking god.

"Grim," Harry says solemnly. "Give me proof of life, love." 

Nick lifts her towards Harry - proof, innit - and Harry chokes out a laugh, and then a sob. 

He covers his face, reaches for a tissue. Nick's floating, and Harry's tears don't even begin to touch him. Her eyes are fixed on his, and for a second he feels like she _knows_ things. All the things about Nick that there are. She's certainly witnessed a lot in the past nine months. Hopefully Nick hasn't fucked her up too badly before she's even gotten started. 

He shakes himself, exhaling slowly, and then looks up at Harry, who's red-eyed, wiping at his nose with a balled-up Kleenex. 

"D'you have the shortlist?" he says, and his voice comes out hoarse from disuse. 

Harry blinks at him dumbly, and then fumbles for his phone. 

He shows Nick the list of names. 

Ah, yeah, there it is. Right where Nick remembered it was. 

"Third one," Nick says steadily.

Harry wipes his eyes, peering at the screen, and Nick watches him accept it, watches his face curve slowly up into happiness, dimples denting his cheeks. 

"Yeah?" he asks. 

Nick nods, looking down at her again. 

"You're sure?" 

"I'm sure," Nick says softly, to her. She's very warm and small and the name doesn't fit her yet, but it will. Nick's certain of it. 

"With the ph or the f?" Harry asks. 

Nick gives him a look. 

Harry answers himself. "Ph. Obviously. Sorry." 

"Ph, and an E instead of A at the end," Nick says quietly. 

Harry tilts his head to the side. "Like-" 

"Like she's got a nickname as her full name, like her stupid dad," Nick says, voice soft as candy floss, smiling down at her. 

"Yeah?" Harry says, choked-up. "Like me?" 

"Yeah." 

Harry sniffs in hard. 

"I love you." 

Nick looks up at him, at Harry's wobbly chin and his big green tear-filled eyes. Nick feels very far away from him, like there's glass between them, and yet - the closest he's ever been to another person. How fucking weird. 

"Love you too." 

"It's perfect, innit?" Harry says, voice trembling. "It's so perfect for her." 

Nick grins. "I know. Let everyone back in, I want to tell them." 

Harry leans forward in his chair and presses a kiss to the side of Nick's mouth. Nick smells awful, probably, and his mouth tastes of spit and stale chicken broth and metal from the pain medication. Harry kisses him anyway. 

Nick gives her a finger to hold, and she grips it tight, all five fingers wrapped warm around Nick's pinky. Harry opens the door, coughing out a leftover sob, and people file back in - Jane, Gemma, Aimee. Her family. Already a crowd, and more on the way. 

He looks up, grinning. "Guess what we've decided!"

\-------

 **@Harry_Styles** : Giddy, terrified, in love. Welcome to the world Sophie Anne Grimshaw-Styles. The best birthday gift I could ask for.

 **@Harry_Styles** : Please, please give my family privacy in the coming weeks. We appreciate it so much. Thank you for all your support . Xx 

 **@grimmers** : "No it's not Sophia, it's just Sophie" Have a feeling I'll be saying that pretty often. Hope you had a nice stay in Chez Grimshaw, Soph.

 **@grimmers** : I'm so tired I'm delirious. Was that last tweet funny? I asked everyone in this hospy room and got a unanimous No. #bitnasty

 **@grimmers** : Fine I'll be serious for 1 minute. We're so happy. She's perfect. Thank you for all the nice tweets. Now someone bring me a bloody drink [drink emoji] [baby emoji]    

\---

The door to his hospital room opens slowly, and Nick looks up to see Gemma, pink hair tied up, looking pale and nervous as she quietly shuts the door behind her.

"Hi," Nick says, nodding in greeting, both hands occupied with holding Sophie as carefully as he can. It's the first time he's been left alone with her, and she's still alive after twenty minutes, so he thinks he's doing pretty well. "You alright?" 

"Yeah," Gemma breathes. She's staring at the bundle of blankets in Nick's arms. "I- yeah." 

"Harry's downstairs getting food. Your mum and stepdad got here too. Half hour ago or so." 

"I know." Gemma pulls a chair up to the hospital bed. "I- I left them down there. Sort of wanted to, like, meet her on my own. " 

Nick sits up a bit straighter. 

"Well, uh. Here she is then," he says awkwardly. Sophie's awake, blinking heavily with her lovely blue eyes. "I mean, you've seen her already, but - anyway. Here."

"Oh," Gemma says, swallowing audibly, pushing her chair closer, and they both lapse into silence. 

Nick curls one hand around to stroke Sophie's soft cheek, and Gemma sits forward in her chair like it was an invitation, gingerly touches Sophie's hand. 

Her eyes are wide, watery, threatening the black eyeliner at the corners. 

"Jesus," she whispers. "Look at her, Nick." 

"D'you know who that is, darling?" Nick murmurs to Sophie. "S'your Auntie Gemma. You've got two aunties." 

"Got a hell of a lot more than two," Gemma says, shooting Nick a wry look. "Lou would have something to say about that." 

Nick huffs out a laugh. "Fair point."

A tear drips down Gemma's cheek, and she thumbs it off, drawing in a shaky breath.

"She's so lovely," she says, all wobbly. "She's perfect." 

Nick doesn't say anything. Doesn't have to. He’s not going to argue with facts.

"Can I hold her?" Gemma asks, looking up at Nick, face fluttering between wide-eyed wonder and a sort of sharp apprehension. Like she's steeling herself for Nick to say no. 

Nick offers Sophie over. 

"Careful with her head," he says, as Gemma takes Sophie into her arms, slow and careful. Her hands are shaking a little, but Nick's not bothered. His do too. 

Gemma sits gingerly back in her seat. 

"So," Nick says, after a long moment. "D'you still hate me?" 

It sounds so juvenile his cheeks flush hot. So much for his newfound fatherly zen. 

Gemma doesn't take her eyes off Sophie. 

"No," she says tenderly. "Never hated you." 

"You did a little bit." 

"I was pissed-off," Gemma says, looking at him, eyes flashing. "You lied to my brother. I didn't hate you." 

Nick thinks she did, but he doesn't want to fight. He's too tired for that, and Sophie's listening. He'll wait a few years before he lets her know how petty and awful he is. A few months at least. 

Gemma turns her gaze on Sophie again. 

Nick thinks that's it, they're done, until Gemma says quietly- 

"I'm sorry, y'know." 

No, Nick does _not_ know. 

"About what I said." Gemma coos at Sophie, tickles her finger gently down Sophie's tiny nose. "That night at my flat." 

"Oh, you mean what a slag I was?" Nick says, trying not to let his voice sharpen. "How you felt bad for me?" 

Gemma looks up again, eyes dark, and Nick looks away, because he doesn't want her to see it. 

The truth is, it fucking hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot. 

"I was in shock," Gemma says, voice low. "I'm sorry. Alright?" 

"Harry's in this too," Nick says. "Harry's half of her. It's not just me." 

"I know." 

"I know it's what people think." 

"No it's not, Nick-" 

"It is. Think I did it on purpose, tricked him into it, or that Harry doesn't _want_ her." Nick's voice is trembling unexpectedly. Bloody hell. "How could - how could they say he doesn't want her?" 

Gemma's face goes soft. "No one's saying that, Nick." 

"They are, though, on bloody _Twitter_ ," Nick spits, and immediately goes red. No one knows he's been looking at his phone. He's trying to maintain an air of benevolent maturity or whatever. He sneaks little glances when Harry and Sophie are both asleep. 

Gemma breathes out a laugh. "Who the hell is letting you look at Twitter? Fuck Twitter, Grim. Fuck every single person who's got an opinion on it. She's yours and Harry's. Harry's so in love. It's bloody weird. It's bloody weird to watch my little brother be a dad. I'm not saying it's not weird, but it's just- god, Nick, it's fucking amazing." 

She sniffs in hard, rubs at her eyes with one hand, eyeliner going everywhere. 

"You just said fuck so many times in front of my baby."

Gemma snorts thickly. "Sorry." 

"S'alright." 

"Don't listen to that crap," she says, eyes dropping to Sophie's face. "It's what I figured out, back when it all started. Everyone's always going to have an opinion, and it's never just going to be one-sided. D'you know how I mean? It's like, the people who are happy for you _create_ the people who talk shit. Because people are contrary, and they take sides. You just can't be bothered by it." 

"You're so wise, Auntie Gemma," Nick whispers, laughing, and she snorts, wrinkles her nose at him. She looks like Harry when she does that. 

"Don't you forget it," she says archly. "Teach her everything she needs to know, won't I?" 

Nick inhales slowly. 

"People'll be awful, Soph," Gemma says to her, very softly. "But we'll take care of you, promise." 

Her mouth crooks up in a smile. 

"Isn't it mental," Nick says. "That we all grew up normal, like. Had a normal childhood and all. Weren't famous. But she's going to be famous since birth. She's a _celebrity child_." 

"Calm down, you ain't Beyoncé," Gemma snorts. 

"I'm not talking about _me_! People quite fancy your brother, I dunno if you've heard." 

She sticks her tongue out, and looks up as the door swings open. It's Harry, sleepy-eyed, hair pulled up in a bun and a cup of coffee in one hand. He hands it to Nick, and Nick takes a grateful sip. 

"Sorry," Harry says, eyes darting between the two of them. Anne and Robin file in behind him, and Nick waves. "Interrupting?"

"Not at all, young Harold," Gemma says cheerily. "C'mere, look how good I am at holding her. I think I'm gonna steal her, sorry lads."

"Gemma," Anne chides, but she's laughing.  

Harry pulls up a chair, and Gemma hands Sophie over, settling her into Harry's waiting arms. 

Harry peers down at her. 

"Hi, Sophie," he says, low in his throat, the corner of his mouth tugging up. 

Nick watches them with something akin to panic in his chest. It's too good, see. Too much. Nick's going from a string of shag buddies and failed month-long relationships to _this_. 

 _I'm going to grow old with you_ , he thinks, and Harry looks up at him, twenty-four and weary and happy and with their daughter in his arms. Nick doesn’t know how to get from here to there. From now to - being old. He doesn’t know how. 

"Well?" Harry asks. 

Nick tries to seem perfectly normal. It's just- it's everything, and it's all at once, and Nick's just got to keep from fucking it up.

He exhales hard, runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah?" 

Harry smiles, raises his eyebrows. "Ready to take her home?" 

\---

Nick is very, very happy to be nested up in their house with Harry and Sophie and a stocked refrigerator and a comfortable bed. He’s the happiest person alive. Baby, popstar, food, telly. Literally all of Nick’s favorite things in one house and no interruptions to keep him from enjoying it.

It’s just-

He's still _him_. After a week he's not only sleep-deprived and constantly starving from feeding but he's also bored. He needs human interaction with someone who a) isn't related to him, b) doesn't want to suck his nipples, and c) can form full sentences. Harry technically fits those parameters, but neither of them are really fit to carry on a conversation at this point, so when Harry asks if his lads can come over to see Sophie, Nick says yes in about two seconds. 

Harry has them over for tea. He orders pizza, gets a couple six-packs - which Nick stares at longingly - and dresses Sophie up in the sweetest tiniest pink Chanel onesie from Kate Moss. 

Niall's the first to show, prompt as usual, and he bounces through the front door and wraps Harry in a hug. 

"Dad!" he says, kissing Harry's cheek. "How're you feeling?" 

"Good," Harry says, grinning loopily. He looks a little crazed, but then they really haven't been sleeping a lot. Harry sleeps more than Nick, because Harry hasn't got a baby attached to his chest at every second. Still, they're both - struggling. Lots of walking into walls and falling asleep in the shower. Nick found Harry passed out on the floor of the kitchen the other day, which was hilarious and terrifying. Nick only took three photos before he checked if Harry was alive. "It's- it's really good. She's so perfect."

"I bet she is, I can't wait to see her. Grimmy, hey! Congrats, mate!" 

"Thanks, Horan," Nick says, letting Niall reach up to kiss his cheek. "Good to see you." 

Niall's halfway through his first beer when Zayn comes in, looking rain-damp and sleepy but still unfairly gorgeous. Nick's quite happily committed to the father of his child and he _still_ straightens up when he sees Zayn Malik, brushes crumbs off his shirt, tries to scrub away a stain of baby sick and spontaneously lose fifteen pounds. 

Liam's next, and then, finally, Louis. Every muppet accounted for. The five of them sit around the living room with beer and pizza and Sophie in her sleeper gazing curiously up at all of them. 

Nick stays in the kitchen, making tea, texting with Sadie about the pros and cons of Brest Friend pillows and idly eating about half a pizza. Normal lad stuff. He can hear them cooing over Sophie, all band differences apparently forgotten. Harry stumbles into the kitchen, still laughing at something, and touches Nick's shoulder. 

"Think she needs a feeding. She's going all-" He pouts his lips like a fish, makes a sucking sound. "And doing the thing with her hand. That the nurse talked about." 

Nick looks up from his phone, a piece of pizza crust half out of his mouth. He pushes it in with one finger. 

"Kay," he says with his mouth full. 

Harry snorts, grabs another bottle of beer and kisses Nick's cheek from behind. "Love you." 

Nick nods, swallowing his bite of pizza, and follows Harry into the living room. 

"Hear someone's hungry," he says by way of greeting, giving them all a little wave, avoiding eye contact with Louis. "And no, I'm not getting the nipple out for you, Horan, don't even try." 

Niall cackles. 

"How've you been, Grimmy?" Liam says. "Congratulations, by the way, she's gorgeous."

"Good, very good, thanks," Nick says automatically, stooping down to pick Sophie up from the sleeper. She's fussing, batting at his shirt with one curled-up fist. "Exhausted. It's, uh, surreal. But we're good, aren't we, Haz?" 

Harry nods, hiding a yawn in his hand. He's curled up against Zayn's shoulder, looking about ten seconds from sleep. 

"I'll have her back in a bit," Nick says. "And much less fussy." 

He exhales when he's in the cool dark of the nursery, sets Sophie down in her crib for a moment and yanks off his t-shirt. It's cold in there, like the heat needs to be turned up, and he shivers until he gets Sophie up against his chest, sits down on the daybed, carefully maneuvers Sophie's small grasping mouth onto his nipple. She sucks hungrily, quickly, and he inhales shakily, eyes closing. She's been permanently attached to his chest and he's still not used to it. Probably never'll be used to it. 

His eyes stay closed until the door creaks open. 

"Haz, mind bringing me some water?" Nick asks, looking up, and he sees, instead, that it's Louis. 

"What are you doing?" Nick says, high, turning away from him, flushing hot. "Get the hell out!" 

Louis closes the door behind him, stands there. 

"Tomlinson, get out, I'm serious," Nick says, voice rising.

"Needed to speak with you," Louis says stubbornly. "Alone." 

"Okay, well, make a bloody appointment," Nick says, his back as turned to Louis as he can manage while still making sure Sophie's on his nipple. She's sucking away, uncaring. "I'm in the middle of something." 

"It's just nursing, I've seen it a million times before," Louis says, his voice quiet but scornful. "Calm down. I've got to speak with you." 

Nick really hates this. 

He keeps his face turned away from Louis, tries to breathe deep, focus on the baby. _Stress makes your milk sour_ , his mum had said in the hospital, and Jane had rolled her eyes heavily behind Eileen's back and shook her head. 

"What?" 

Louis doesn't speak. 

" _What_ , Tomlinson?" Nick turns around to face him, and Sophie slips off his nipple and lets out a mewl of discomfort. 

Nick glares up at Louis. 

"Now look what you've done." 

"How's that my fault?"

"You distracted me!" 

Nick fumbles for Sophie's head, tries to do the one-two thing the nurse showed him, but she won't latch. Louis won't stop watching him. Nick can feel his face flushing. 

"You've fucked me up," he says, embarrassedly. "It usually only takes like a second."

"Maybe cos her head's twisted," Louis says, stepping closer. 

"It is not." 

"Not, like, awfully. But, see, look how she's got to turn her head to latch, it makes it a lot harder for her to swallow. Makes her gassier too." 

"This is how they said to do it in the hospital," Nick says, voice wavering. "I've been doing it like this." 

"It's not, like, deadly," Louis says, an eyeroll audible in his voice. "Don't freak out. Here, just-" 

He sits down next to Nick, and Nick scoots away from him, suddenly feeling very naked. 

"Turn her upright," Louis says in a quiet voice, putting his hand over Nick's, guiding it onto Sophie's nappy-covered bum, turning her against Nick's chest with her legs tucked under his arm. "See how her throat's up and down now? Like, try and turn your head and swallow, it's a lot harder. This position's easier." 

"I know how to do it," Nick snaps, face hot, and Louis shushes him. 

"Don't get that tone when she's feeding," he says, voice hushed. "You have to be soft or she'll think she's done something wrong." 

Nick doesn't say anything. His throat's burning with hot shame, and of course Sophie latches on perfectly, now. Nick watches her sucking happily away.

"Yeah, there she is," Louis murmurs. "What a smart girl." 

Nick ducks his head because his eyes are wet. He coughs, roughly, trying to clear the lump out of his throat. 

"Me mum's a midwife," Louis says, still in that hushed, sweet tone. He's watching Sophie. "At this point, s'like she's very, like. Sensitive to noise. She'll be happier, feel safer, like, if you don't sound angry around her. It's all about tone." 

Nick nearly sobs, tries to cover it up with another cough. 

"Kay," he says, voice thick. "I knew that."

Louis stands up, backs up to lean against the crib. 

"Can you leave us alone?" Nick asks, not looking at him. "Please?"

There's a taut silence. Louis won't move. 

"Louis," Nick hisses, and then remembers _it's all about tone_ , and lets out a ragged breath, a tear spilling down his cheek. His kid's watching him cry as he feeds her, which probably means she'll grow up with some psychological aversion to nipples and need years of therapy. " _God_ , fuck, I'm so shit at this, I know. Don't say anything." 

Louis shifts restlessly from foot to foot. 

"You're not shit at it," he says, low, and opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, before he steps outside and shuts the door behind him.

Nick lifts his head. His face feels damp with tears and nervous sweat, and he lets out a long unsteady breath. 

Sophie gurgles against his chest, and Nick looks down at her, swallowing hard. He lifts her off to switch sides, burps her against his shoulder, biting his bottom lip hard as she latches on again. 

"Shh, sh," he says, voice choked. He clears his throat. "Shh. It's alright, love. It's alright. You're alright." 

When she's full he sits there for a good ten minutes, letting her rest against his chest, breathing quietly. He's supposed to bring her back so they can play with her and fight over who's her favorite, but he feels greedy for her, a hot selfish clench of want in his stomach, so he holds her close instead until Harry comes in. 

"Nick?" he says, and flicks the lamp on. "Hey."

"Hi," Nick says, looking up at him, rubbing at his eyes with one hand self-consciously. Harry doesn't notice. 

"She alright? Did she feed?"

Nick nods, forcing a smile. 

"She's fine," he says. "Just sleepy." 

"The lads want to say goodbye," Harry says, reaching out his arms for her. "Can I take her?" 

"Yeah, of course," Nick says, swallowing again, and Harry plucks her out of Nick's arms. 

"Hi, little thing," he murmurs. 

"Might want a flannel," Nick says, standing up, grabbing his t-shirt and shrugging it on. He finds a clean cloth in the drawers, lays it over Harry's shoulder. "And she'll need a change soon." 

"Thanks," Harry says, kicking open the door gently. "See you in a bit." 

\---

"Welcome!" Nick cries the next day. Or maybe two days later. Time's gone a bit wonky. He swings the front door open. "Look at my little children! My _other_ children. My breakfast children." 

"Hi Nick," Matt says, already sighing, while Fiona throws her arms around him. Nick squeezes her hard, kisses the top of her head. 

"Fi-fi! I've missed you!" 

Ian heads up the rear, closing the door behind him and waving at Nick over Fiona's head. 

"Hiya, Grim." 

"Chaloner, baby. You all know Ian's the one who brought me to the hospital, right? He saved my _life_. He actually delivered Sophie by hand. Strapped on the hospital mask thingy and some gloves, got right in there. Bit messy, wasn't it, Ian?" 

Ian curtsies as best he can in skinny jeans, as Fiona makes a face.

"My hero," Nick says, giving him a hug. Matt's next. He slaps Nick on the back a few times, very laddy. Nick can tell he's missed him anyway. 

Nick pulls away, grinning. 

"You're here!" he says. "I'm so stir-crazy, it's insane. I don't know how to speak to adults anymore. Luckily you’re all children." 

"Where's Harry?" Ian asks, slinging his coat over a chair. 

"Oh, he's in the garden making a smoothie," Nick says breezily. 

Matt raises an eyebrow. "You know what? I'm weirdly not surprised by that." 

"It's so Soph won't wake up. We've got these, like, electrical outlets outside for the grill, Haz just sets up the blender... Anyway, do you want something to drink?" 

"Let's see the sprog first," Matt says, just as Fiona says, "Got any wine?" 

"Fi, it's half two," Ian says, steering her away from the kitchen. "Where's Sophie?" 

"In the nursery. Shall we go visit?" 

\---

He leads them in quietly. Sophie's in her crib, and lo and behold, she's awake, one arm escaped from her swaddling and her eyes glinting in the darkness. 

"Oh hello," Nick says, very softly. "Look who's up." 

They crowd around the edge of the crib. Nick watches them instead of Sophie for a minute, and has to bite down a smile at the awestruck looks on their faces. Ian glances up at Nick, sticks out his tongue, and Nick sticks his out back. 

"She's so cute," Fiona breathes. "Oh my god. She's so tiny." 

"Jesus," Matt says, voice rough. He sniffs in hard. " _Nick_." 

"I know," Nick says, trying not to sound _too_ smug. 

"She's so much bigger already," Ian says, looking up at Nick again, eyes dark. "It's mental." 

"I know," Nick repeats. "It's cos she eats every bloody five minutes. I swear I can see her growing." 

"Can you like, pick her up yet?" Fiona asks. 

Nick snorts. "No, Fi. She's been in that crib her entire life. We're going to keep her in there til she's twelve." 

"Shut up!" Fiona squawks, as Matt laughs. "I just meant, like, now." 

"I can pick her up." Nick reaches in, gingerly. Sophie wriggles, one leg kicking up. Nick tickles her foot, and then scoops her up, blanket and all. 

"See?" he says proudly. Sophie immediately hits him in the face with one hand and starts doing her feed-me-now-or-I'll-have-a-meltdown face. "Oh, shit, she's about to cry." 

"Nooooo, don't cry, you're so cute," Ian says sadly. 

"Fi, hand me that pacifier on the changing table?" Nick asks, and Fiona grabs it as fast as she can. Nick wipes it off on his shirt and pops it in Sophie's mouth. 

"Y'alright, love?" he says to her, jogging her up and down. She sucks on it unhappily, fussing. She knows it's not his nipple. Bloody smart, she is. 

"She might need to be fed." Nick yawns. 

"Should we leave?" Matt asks, wincing. 

"No, no! Stay!" Nick bounces Sophie in his arms. "Please! The only adults I've seen in the past three weeks are One Direction and my mum, I'm _dying_." 

"Wait, really?" Fiona says. "Zayn too?" 

"Yeah, Zayn was here." 

"Ohmygod. How'd he look?" 

Matt rolls his eyes. 

"Mega babe," Nick whispers to Fiona. "Like you wouldn't believe." 

Fiona sighs dreamily, and Ian ushers her out by the back. "Let's go. We'll wait in the kitchen, yeah, Nick?" 

Nick nods, and Matt shuts the door behind them. 

\---

When Nick emerges, Fiona’s found the wine and Matt’s got his hand in a packet of crisps. Ian’s at least put the kettle on, because he’s got manners. 

“Tea, Nick?” he asks. Nick nods, knocking Fiona’s hand off her wineglass and taking a gulp. 

“Oh, hey, Nick,” Matt says with his mouth full. He swallows. “We were thinking you could do a call, if you wanted. With Greg, during the show. Just a little chat.” 

“But you don’t have to,” Fiona says. 

“Well, yeah, of course you don’t-” 

“Yeah,” Nick says, interrupting Matt mid-sentence. “Yes. Please! Let’s do it.” 

Fiona coos, rubbing his shoulder. “You miss being on radio?” 

Nick scoffs. “No, I am entirely completed and fulfilled with my child. I want for nothing. I don’t even remember my life before fatherhood. This would just be, like, an act of charity on my part.”

Matt rolls his eyes and pops another crisp in his mouth. “Great. I’ll tell Greg.” 

“Ooh, what should we do?” Nick says, grinning. “Maybe like a weeklong thing… I could play Showquizness! Or do album reviews or summat, I dunno.” 

“Alright, don’t get too ambitious,” Ian says. “You told me on Sunday that you hadn’t showered in four days.” 

“And no one likes a crying baby on the radio,” Fiona says, sipping her wine. “It’s stressful.”

“Hey, don’t insult Nick like that,” Matt says, laughing as Nick slaps his arm. “Really, though, it doesn’t have to be anything big. Just a chat. So we know you’re alive.” 

“I’m so up for it.”

Matt grins, holds out the crisp packet to Nick, and Nick digs his hand in. 

“Hey,” he says with his mouth full, eyes lighting up. “Do you want to do a photoshoot with Sophie where you all hold her and then I post it on Instagram with a caption that says it takes a Breakfast show to raise a child?” 

“Nick, that’s ridiculous,” Matt says wearily, just as Fiona says excitedly, “ _Yes_ , let's do it!”

\---

"And we're just going to- go, reaaally slowly," Nick says, low in his throat. "And just shut the door, and-" 

He closes the door, peers anxiously down at Sophie, strapped to his chest. Her eyes are closed. 

"Oh thank fuck," he whispers. "Stay asleep, please, love." 

Sophie doesn't move. 

Nick eases his way down the steps, Pig's lead in hand and Sophie's nappy bag slung over one shoulder. 

"Pig," he says sternly. Luckily no one's around to hear him talking to both his dog and his infant like they can in any way understand or respond to him. "I need you to be gentle, okay? No pulling. Your sister's asleep." 

Pig whines loudly, desperate to get moving. Nick sighs.

"That's not a good start, Pig dog." 

Someone turns the corner towards them and Nick shuts up, takes off down the road towards the Hill. After a minute or two, he starts grinning stupidly. God, it feels nice to be outside. The early March sun's a bit bleak, and there's a chill in the air, but he's _outside_. Sky! Roads! Grass! Harry doesn’t know what he’s missing, having a lie-in. 

"See, Soph," he says softly into the top of her head. "There's my favorite curry shop. And across the road there, they've got the best lattes. Ooh, and if we made a left here and went down two blocks we'd be at Finchy's flat!" 

Sophie sleeps on. Nick's sure she's absorbing the information for future reference.

"We'll go to Finchy's flat later," Nick says. He smiles blandly behind his sunglasses at a girl who's very obviously taking his picture, and she turns away, ducking her head. Lovely. At least most of Nick's squidgy torso is covered up by the baby wrap. 

Daisy meets him outside her flat, leaning against the fence in yoga pants and a faded jumper. She's got Monty's lead in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, and she waves excitedly when she sees them. 

"Hi!" she stage-whispers. "Oh my god, look who's out and about!" 

"Is this what outdoors feels like?" Nick asks, laughing. Daisy kisses his cheek. 

"She asleep?" 

"Yeahh." He stoops down to let Daisy peek at the dark fuzzy top of her head. "Being a very good girl." 

"Course she is." Daisy hands over the coffee. "Decaf vanilla soy latte, for the coffee-deprived dad." 

"Oh my _god_ , I love you," Nick says gratefully. Daisy takes Pig's lead out of his hand. 

"To the hill?" she asks, untangling the leads as Pig immediately starts sniffing Monty's arse. 

"Let's do it." 

\---

They make it all the way up, sit on a bench at the top and let Monty and Pig off to run around. It's a quiet Monday morning, half past eight, the sun tentatively peeking through a layer of thick clouds.

Daisy's sitting back with her feet kicked out in front of her, sunglasses pushed up her head and her eyes shut dreamily. 

Nick looks out at the expanse of green, the buildings beyond it, smoke rising into the air in plump white puffs. London, spread out before him. His shoes planted firmly in the wet dirt and his nose dripping from hay fever and the warm weight of his daughter pressed against his chest. 

Life's a bit mad, isn't it. Nick draws in a long shaking breath, puts his hand over the lump of Sophie in her wrap. 

She'll grow up here. Toddling around on the grass, falling on her arse. Running around chasing Pig. Picnics and all. Nick got dumped, once, about halfway down the hill when he was twenty years old and had been in London for three months. Some bloke with a nose piercing and long hair and a small prick told him he was boring and Nick wept by himself on the grass until it got dark, feeling utterly tragic.

He huffs a laugh at the memory. It's strange how those things heal over. 

Oh god, Sophie's gonna get her heart broken someday. Nick holds her closer, trying not to spiral. 

"Daize," he says, shakily. "Can you just, like, assure me that being a girl's not that bad. And that Sophie'll be fine." 

Daisy smiles at him. 

"Nicholas Grimshaw," she says, leaning over to put an arm around his shoulders. "She will be fine." 

"People are so shit, though. People are so awful." 

Daisy laughs. "I know. But they're good too. They're good and bad. Trust me, love. Sophie will figure it out." 

Nick swallows around the lump in his throat, lets Daisy rub the back of his neck with one hand. 

"She's got two parents who love her so much," Daisy says very softly. "Who love each other. That's- that's really lucky." 

She sounds wobbly, and she puts her head on Nick's shoulder. Nick closes his eyes, letting out a breath. 

He's got so many people in his life with fucked-up pasts, fucked-up families. Broken and dysfunctional. He's not sure how that happened, really. They all found each other, in London, while they were looking for something better than what they came from. 

Nick likes people like that. He likes to be needed. He likes to love people unconditionally and get loved back. It's selfish, maybe.

"Daize," he says, quietly. 

"Yeah?" Daisy's voice is thick. 

"I- uh. Do you, d'you want to be Sophie's godmother?" 

Daisy sits up so fast she nearly cracks her head on Nick's chin. 

"What?" she asks, eyes wide and face gone pale. "What?" 

Nick snorts helplessly. "Is that a no?"

"Oh my god," she says shakily. "Oh my god. Are you being serious?" 

"Uhh, yes?" 

Daisy bursts into tears. 

It's a full two minutes later that she chokes out something unintelligible but positive-sounding, throws her arms around Nick. 

"That was - that's a yes?" Nick says. 

"Yes," Daisy gasps. "If you're sure. I'm not- I dunno if I'm - what about like Aimee? Or Collette? Are you sure you want-" 

"Yeah, Daize, I want you." 

Daisy looks at him blearily. 

"What if I'm not good at it?" 

Nick scoffs. "It's not hard, Lowe. Just buy pressies and give her cuddles. And watch her every once in a while so Harry and I can have a shag." 

Daisy laughs wetly, wiping her nose. 

"My track record with godparents is, like," she says, blinking at him. "Not great." 

"Well, I promise you're not secretly her mum," Nick says, and laughs when Daisy smacks him, giggling, her eyes red. 

"Idiot." 

Nick puts his arm around her. 

"So you're saying yes." 

"Yes I'm saying yes," Daisy says weepily. She peers down at Nick's chest. "God, she's so beautiful." 

"Int she though?" Nick says, looking down at Sophie. She's still asleep, miraculously. Or maybe not miraculously, considering she's had a change and a feed all within the last hour. The clock's ticking, though. Soon she'll turn into a screaming shitting pumpkin.  

Daisy nods. 

"Oh god," she says, putting her face into Nick's neck suddenly. "Oh god. Are you sure?" 

Nick leans against her, sighing. He first met Daisy when Pixie brought her to a party at Nick's flat, years ago. He thought she'd be mental. Thought he'd have to clean up syringes and pull her out of the gutter and all that. He wasn't _opposed_ or anything - he likes a crazy person as much as anyone. He was just fully prepared to end up in A&E at the end of the night. 

Daisy showed up with a pan of still-warm brownies and a Rodarte leather jacket that Nick immediately wanted for himself. She kissed him on the cheek sweetly, complimented his interior decoration, and Nick felt like an utter idiot. 

Daisy sleeps in his bed and wangs on about crystals and once told Nick that he had a _beautiful and precious soul_. She cuddles Nick when he doesn't want to be touched and tries out endless recipes on him and Nick's _proud_ of her, in an odd way, sometimes. If his daughter ended up anything like Daisy, he'd be grateful. 

Ugh, he's being a sap. That's the bad thing about Daisy, she's so genuine it makes Nick feel all believe in all her witchy emo crap. An hour in her company and he finds himself discussing his star sign and the possible effects of Mercury being in retrograde. 

He turns his head to kiss Daisy's temple. 

"Yeah," he says. Daisy takes care of people. She's taken care of Nick. She'll take care of Sophie. "Yeah, Daize, I'm sure." 

Daisy sniffles again, and fumbles for Nick's hand. 

\---

“Nicholas Grimshaw!” Greg says down the line, and Nick grins so wide he can’t speak for a second. Oh, god, he misses radio. He misses talking. He misses the people and the studio and the watery canteen eggs and- 

“Nick?” Greg asks. “Did we lose you?” 

“No, no, sorry, I’m here,” Nick says in a rush. “Good morning, Gregory!” 

“Morning, Nick!” 

“Are we on the radio?” 

“We are. You alright, Grimmy?” 

“I’m good, I’m good, how about you? How’s the _nation_? I haven’t been able to check in!” 

“Oh, I’m great. The nation’s great too. You been listening? How am I doing?” 

“I’ve listened every single day and you’re doing - alright.” 

“You haven’t really listened every day.” 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“How many times have you listened? Be honest.” 

Nick hums. “Uhhhh. Like - three times, maybe?”

Greg laughs. “Three times over three months. Thanks, glad to hear you’re a fan. Oh god, someone on the text is who’ing you, Grimmy. He only hosted the show for five years!” 

“How quickly they forget!” Nick says, clasping a hand to his heart. Pig looks up from where she’s curled up on the rug at Nick’s feet. 

“I know, it’s awful. Shame on you, John in Sheffield. So let’s _chat_ , Nick, let’s have a chat. You’re a dad! That’s the big news! Congratulations!” 

“I am, yeah.” Nick’s grinning again. “Thanks!” 

“What’s she named again, like, Samantha-” 

“Strong effort, James,” Nick snorts. “It’s Sophie. She’s Sophie. Not Sophia, just Sophie.” 

“And how old’s she now?” 

“Uhh, she’s just about seven weeks now.” 

“Nearly a grown-up.” 

“Feels like.” Nick reaches out with one leg to scratch Pig’s belly with his toes. She rolls over, tail wagging. 

“Is she right there? Can she talk on radio? Make her say something. Make her do a link.” 

“She can’t talk at all yet, Greg. Do you know how babies work? She’s off with her dad at her auntie’s place, anyway, so no dice. Soz.” 

“Aww,” Greg moans. "I was counting on an adorable baby feature."

“Is Finchy there?” Nick asks. It’s only half seven, so no Ian yet, probably, but- “Fi-fi? You there, babes?” 

“We’ve sworn allegiance to Greg now, Nick, sorry,” Matt says dryly. 

“Yeah, they can’t speak to you anymore,” Greg laughs. 

“I can’t believe this betrayal. You’re never holding Sophie again, Matt Fincham.” 

“Nooo,” Matt protests. “I really want to hold her-” 

“Me too!” Fiona chimes in. “Sorry, Greg, we’re back on Nick now. He’s got a cute baby. What’ve you got?” 

“I’ve got- I’ve got a cat!” Greg tries. “I’ve got… oh my god, I’ve got nothing.” 

Nick laughs. 

“Well, now _I_ want to hold Sophie. To soothe my pain over having nothing in my life.” 

“Come over anytime, baby.”

“Aww, thanks, Nick. See you in ten minutes? Put the kettle on?” 

Nick laughs again. “Don’t abandon the nation, Greg. Sophie’s cute, but the nation comes first.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. So we’ve checked in, we’ve determined that you’re alive and well.” 

“Very alive, very well. Very tired, though.” 

“Worse than waking up for Breakfast?” 

“Oh god yes. Shame on everyone who told me Breakfast would be good preparation for having a child.” 

“Sara Cox, probably.” 

“Oh, she’s a liar.” 

Greg laughs. “Well, we’re gonna play a song, Grimmy, but it was good to chat with you-” 

“Good to speak with you too, Greg!” Nick’s aware he sounds a bit mental, but it’s just - he loves the radio _so much_. Oh, god, he wishes he could teleport. Why isn’t that a thing yet? He wants to be in the Beeb right now, in his chair, talking into mic, with Matt giving him warning looks from the corner.

“- alright, Nick, I’ll speak with you soon. Have to come over and visit the little one.” 

“Yeah, come on over. Good to talk with you, bye Finchy, bye Fi-Fi, bye bye bye-” 

“Bye, Nick!” Fiona calls, and the line goes dead. Nick puts his phone down, and looks around the silent house. Pig watches him. Wags her tail hopefully. 

“Shall we go for a walk?” Nick says, and she springs to her feet and then onto the sofa, paws in Nick’s lap. “Walk, Pig dog?” 

She licks his cheek, and he puts his face into the top of her head, takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah, let’s go for a walk,” he mumbles. “No fun being in the house alone, is it, Pig.” 

\---

"Okay!" Harry says, over the din of Sophie weeping in her car seat, muffled slightly by the fact that she's facing the back but still loud enough to cause eardrum damage. "Okay, we can- we can do this." 

Nick's in the backseat, shaking a stuffed monkey in front of Sophie's face. His tits hurt and Sophie won't go to sleep and they're only forty minutes up the M40. Still hours away from Nick's parent's house. So many hours. A thousand hours.

"Haaaarry," he moans. He's so tired he keeps falling asleep against the back of the seat and then waking up as Sophie wails. The night before was awful, for absolutely no reason. Sophie wouldn't sleep. Kept weeping on the monitor and then squirming in Nick's arms when Nick couldn’t resist picking her up and then not latching when Nick tried to shut her up with a feed.

"Not you too," Harry says darkly. "Don't snip at me. I'm trying my best." 

"I never said you weren't." Sophie lets out an ear-piercing squeal, and Harry swerves in the lane. "Oh my god, Haz. Be _careful_." 

"I'm trying!" 

"Shh, love, shh, no crying," Nick says, shaking the monkey with more intensity. "C'mon. Why're you crying, huh? You're all changed and fed. You should be napping." 

Sophie gulps in a tearful breath, and then opens her mouth to sob again. 

"The logic's not working," Nick says desperately. "She's not being _logical_ , Haz-" 

"Are you surprised?" Harry huffs out a tense laugh. "She's an infant. She's _your_ infant." 

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" 

"You know exactly what I mean." 

"I'm _very_ logical." 

"Who planned this bloody trip?" 

Nick sputters. "Our mums wanted-" 

" _My_ mum said she'd come down to London." 

"I can't _believe_ I'm being blamed for this. I cannot believe-" 

"Oh, save the outrage, please." Harry's hands clench around the wheel. 

"I'm the one trying to keep her entertained-" 

"- cos I'm driving!" 

"So don't go on like I'm so-" 

He's cut off by a scream, Sophie fed-up with their squabble. She beats her fists on the chair, and Nick fumbles to grab her tiny wrists. 

"Oh, love, don't. Shhhh. Shhit. Haz, my chest is on _fire_." 

"Feed her," Harry says, taking a long sip of his Starbucks. 

"I'm not doing it in a moving vehicle, Harold. Safety hazard. I don't want to suffocate her on my tit when you inevitably get us into an accident." 

Harry rolls his eyes. Nick can see it in the rearview. "Should I pull over?" 

"I- I dunno." Nick feels his chest as Sophie wails. "God. I dunno. Ow. I- I just. I want to go home." 

Harry catches eyes with him in the rearview mirror. 

"They're expecting us," he says, but he doesn't sound too set on it. “Your mum’s doing a roast.”

"I know." Nick shuts his eyes. "I just want to go home. Please, Haz." 

Harry doesn't say anything for a long minute. He could, Nick knows. He's got every right to complain. It _was_ Nick's idea, for the trip. He's the one who made all the plans, fixed up the carseat (well, made Mairead fix up the carseat). He's the one who assured Harry that Sophie would sleep the entire trip and wake up in Oldham refreshed and sunny. 

"I'm sorry," Nick says, into the quiet, Sophie gone silent for a minute like she's listening. "I'm an idiot." 

Harry shakes his head, and flicks the blinker on to get off at the next exit. "No, you're not." 

Nick watches him. His hands. His clenched jaw and his tight mouth. 

"Love you," he says, voice small. "Sorry."

"I'm not actually angry," Harry says, sounding a bit angry. "You know that, right?" 

Nick looks down at Sophie, who whimpers and kicks her legs unhappily. 

"Alright." 

"I'm not." Harry turns the car around, hits the accelerator to pull back onto the M40. 

"I - I know." 

Sophie cries, and Nick shakes the monkey wearily in front of her face. "Please, love, shh. Sleepy time, now." 

In a frankly insulting turn of events, Sophie falls asleep just as they get back home. Harry carefully unstraps the buckles, draws her up into his arms, and Nick follows behind, laden down with bags. 

"Well," he says, as Harry unlocks the front door with one hand. "Cool holiday." 

Harry huffs out a laugh, kissing the top of Sophie's head. "You want to go feed her and get her down?" 

Nick nods, letting their bags thump onto the floor. He takes Sophie into his arms, a sleepy warm weight. Sweet and innocent now, no hellish screaming, just a soft flutter of her eyelashes as she changes hands. Very deceiving. 

"We'll go back home soon enough, love," Nick murmurs to her, and then he looks up at Harry, wide-eyed. " _Home_. Fucking hell, I just realized she's not going to be Northern." 

Harry laughs at him exhaustedly, slinging Nick's bag over his shoulder. "You just realized that?" 

"That's so _weird_. She's a city baby." 

"Go get her sorted," Harry says, rubbing at his eyes. "Meet me in bed for a kip?" 

"You have the best ideas," Nick says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Harry's furrowed tired forehead. "Sorry again." 

"It's alright." 

Nick kisses him again, on the soft bow of his mouth. "See you in a bit." 

\---

 **@Harry_Styles:** "I just realized she's not going to be Northern." Good observation @grimmers

 **@grimmers:** @Harry_Styles don't want no posho london baby do i 

 **@grimmers:** Lol at people getting angry at my last tweet. i do actually want my posho london baby, she's very cute i'm keeping her #backoff [fist emoji] 

 **@Harry_Styles:** Trying to teach S. a Northern accent. She can't speak yet but she seems into it. 

 **@grimmers:** "SAY SUMMAT! SAY SUMMAT, SOPHIE!!" #goodparenting 

 **@grimmers:** Sophie just gurgled with a northern accent she sounded like Mel B I'm so proud 

 **@Harry_Styles:** @grimmers Baby Spice. 

\---

The Tuesday after their failed trip, they all go out for lunch with Gemma at some little cafe that apparently has the best salads in the West End. It's good, nice to be out of the house, up until the third time someone asks Harry for a photo. 

"Nick, can you get in as well please?" the girl says, high and shaky.

Nick has a mouthful of kale, so luckily Gemma answers for him. 

"Not right now," she says, sunglasses on, looking at the girl coolly. "Let him eat, please." 

Harry blinks at Nick, and puts his arm around the girl. Her friend takes the photo, and then they switch, and Nick pretends to be fussing with the buckles of Sophie's carrier so he doesn't have to look at them. Great. They'll go off and tell all their little Twitter friends that Harry's an absolute sweetheart and Nick's a grinch. 

"Thanks, Harry!" they chorus, and Harry smiles back before he pushes his chair back up to the table, sliding his sunglasses down onto his eyes like that'll somehow hide who he is. 

"Jesus," Gemma says, annoyed. 

"It's fine." Harry runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry, Grim, what were you saying?" 

Nick turns back to him. Sophie's starting to fuss, hands clenching. They'll need to get home for a feed soon or Nick'll have a lot more to worry about than some disgruntled teenage girls. 

"Hmm. What _was_ I saying?" 

"Radio Two," Gemma supplies. 

"Oh. Right. So, like, I'm just all nervy that they'll try and bring that up as an option, y'know? And frankly it's just not- I mean. Someday, maybe, but-" 

"Harry?" a voice says, and Nick lets out a long breath, tries his hardest not to roll his eyes. 

Harry smiles blankly up at a girl and what looks like her mum, both clutching their phones, both trembling with that special brand of Harry Styles-induced giddiness.

"Do you- do you think we could take a photo please?" 

"Maybe when I'm finished eating, if that's alright," Harry says, voice mild. "I'm in the middle of lunch, please." 

"Oh my god, is that Sophie?" the girl says, voice squeaking. "She's so-"

"Excuse me," their waiter says, showing up at fucking last. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you not to bother our guests." 

"We weren't - we weren't bothering, we were just-"

Gemma lets out a derisive sound. 

"Please, if you'll sit down." He watches as the two slink away, and then turns to Harry. "Sorry about that, sir." 

"It's fine." Harry smiles at him. 

"Oh- sir. I just - just wanted to let you know that we're not- exactly - equipped to, uh, to deal with the situation outside. It's not - a usual occurrence, for us, so..." He trails off, and Nick looks up at him, something dropping nervously in his gut. 

"What's outside?" he asks. Harry pushes his sunglasses into his hair. 

"Uh," the waiter says, very obviously trying not to wince. "There's, uh, quite the crowd." 

Nick swallows hard, as Harry mutters, "Shit." 

"Someone tweeted a photo, and, well, you know-" 

"Do you have a back door?" Harry asks. Nick turns to Sophie, tugging the blanket up to her neck. His hands are shaking, oddly. It's just- it's been a long time. And she's never been in the thick of it. 

Sophie blinks at him, and Nick tries to smile. He makes a kissy-face at her and she puckers right back, hungrily. 

"Haz," he says. "We need to get her home." 

"We, uh, we do have back access, but it's - it opens onto a pedestrian-only alley, we don't have- we don't have vehicles back there generally," the waiter stutters. 

Harry's hand is clenched on the tabletop. 

"I'll go out and see how it is," Gemma says, shoving her chair back. "See if it'll be alright with just Rob for cover." 

Harry nods, and she disappears out of the dining room. 

"Very sorry about this, Mr. Styles," the waiter says. "We, um, like I said, we don't generally have- have your type of clientele- though of course we very much appreciate your business-" 

"Yeah," Harry says, smiling up at him tightly. "Thank you. I appreciate it." 

Gemma comes back through the door, shaking her head. 

"Harry," she says. "It's fucking mental out there." 

Nick scrubs his hand over his face, letting out a rough breath. 

"What about the car?"

"The street is full," Gemma says grimly. "Don't even know how Rob would get to the door." 

"Fuck." Harry's throat bobs in a swallow. 

"Can we, like, call the police or summat?" Nick asks desperately. "To clear the road?" 

"Public space, they can't exactly do much," Harry mutters. "I'll - I can call more security, they can - can clear a path. Fucking hell."

There's a moment of tense silence. Sophie takes the opportunity to start crying. 

"Oh god." Nick cranes over her. "Love, shh, shh, c'mon." 

She goes quiet and breathless, face screwed up, which only means- 

"Shh, love, please!" Nick repeats, but it's entirely drowned out by her wail. She's incredibly ear-piercing when she wants to be. Strong popstar lungs and all. 

"Where's the pacifier, Haz, isn't in the bag?" Nick asks desperately. There are people watching, and more people massed outside the restaurant where Nick can't see, waiting and relentless. Nick's blood is pumping with adrenaline like he's in a war zone. 

"Uhh," Harry says, fumbling through the bag. "Uhhhhh. Fuck. Fuck. Where is it?" 

"The zipped pocket, right?" 

"I can't find it." A pack of wipes drops to the floor, and then an empty bottle. "I can't find it, Grim!" 

"Keep looking!" 

"Breathe," Gemma says, taking the bag out of Harry's hands. "Call security, I'll look. Nick, pick her up, maybe-" 

"She's hungry," Nick says miserably. "She's won’t stop til she's fed." 

"You could do it here," Harry says, phone to his ear, and Nick glares at him. 

"No I bloody well couldn't." 

"Nick, I was just- hello?" Harry's eyes slide away from him. "Yeah- yes. This is Harry Styles. Hello. Uhh. We have a situation, here, at a restaurant in West End, we-" 

He's cut off by Sophie screaming. Nick sees a waitress wince. 

Right then. Fuck this, Nick's taking action. He plucks Sophie out of her carrier, holds her on one arm. She grabs for his chest. 

"Babe, no, wait a minute," Nick says, and she hits him in the chin with one fist and screams again. Very nice. Very patient. "Uh - waiter, please, where's that- that waiter?" 

He finds him cowering behind the host stand. 

"Hi," Nick says, voice brittle. "Do you have a room where I could be alone with her for- for twenty minutes or so." 

The waiter swallows hard. "We've got- we've just got the kitchen, it's like, open-plan? And the toilet, I guess-" 

"I'm not feeding my baby in the fucking toilet." 

"Sir, please don't get angry with me." 

"You don't have, like, an office or summat?" 

"An office?" The waiter's eyes narrow. "This is a small restaurant. We don't usually handle people like you." 

"People like me?" Nick snaps. Sophie's wailing like a fire alarm, beating at Nick's chest with her fists like a proper diva. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

The waiter turns away from him. "Let me call my manager." 

"Can you at least clear the dining room so I can-" 

"We don't run our business around you!" the waiter spits. "Sir!" 

Nick nearly hits him, and then he remembers he can't fight and he's currently holding an infant. Everyone's watching them except Harry, who's still on the phone. 

Gemma appears behind them, putting a hand on Nick's back. 

"Grim," she says, quietly into his ear. "Sit down and feed her. Alright?" 

Nick clenches his jaw so hard his head throbs. Sophie won't stop fucking _screaming_. 

"Hope you're calling your fucking manager," he says. The waiter has a phone pressed to his ear. "I'd like to bloody speak with him-" 

"Nick." Gemma squeezes his shoulder. "Sit down. I'll talk to him. Harry's working on the security." 

Nick nearly sobs. His throat hurts. The waiter won't look at him, phone pressed to his ear. 

"Fine," he chokes out. He scans the room for a second. A dozen or more people, all staring at him like he's grown a second head. Fantastic. They'll take photos, of him, and- 

He hates this. He turns his chair around, sits facing the wall. His hands are shaking, and he can't let go of Sophie to unbutton his _stupid_ shirt. 

"Harry," he says, turning his head. "Harry!" 

Harry glances at him, brow furrowed, and then says into the phone, "One minute, please."

Nick pets Sophie's back, trying to fumble for his shirt at the same time.

"What?" Harry says into his ear from behind.

"Help me take my - my shirt off," Nick chokes out, trying not to cry. 

Harry takes Sophie out of his arms, bouncing her. 

"Shh, shh, love. Shh, it's alright. I know, I know-" 

Nick unbuttons his shirt halfway, holds out his arms, and Harry puts Sophie back. 

"Okay," Nick says, wobbly, keeping his voice quiet. Harry's talking into the phone again, something unintelligible about cars and barriers and crowd control. Nick tunes him out, and focuses on Sophie, sobbing, red-faced, a picture of agony.

"Shh, sh," he mumbles, tucking her under his arm, open mouth against his stomach. He lifts her head gingerly. God, it’s like defusing a bomb. "Shh, please. Open- open, yeah, that's - shh. Alright. Alright. There- c'mon." 

She chokes out a last sob and then latches on firmly, and Nick prods at his chest desperately until he sees her swallow a good mouthful. His head's still ringing, and he shuts his eyes, letting out a deep breath.

"Nick?" Harry says from behind him, cautiously. 

Nick opens his eyes. Sophie's eyes are closed, her little forehead furrowed in concentration, mouth open wide. 

"Yeah," he says, without turning around. 

"They're- they're working on setting up a path. To the car." 

Nick nods, slowly. 

"Maybe- five minutes?" 

"She won't be finished then," Nick says. His voice sounds strange, sort of hoarse and quiet. It hits him harder than usual, sometimes. He can feel eyes on his back, and there's nothing he can do.

"Can we- can we finish up at home, or should we-" 

Nick doesn't really know. He's never interrupted her before she's had her fill. How lucky they've been, practically not leaving the house until now. Living on her schedule.

"I dunno," he says. "Can they wait?" 

Harry lets out a strangled breath, and puts the phone back up to his ear. Nick focuses back in on Sophie. 

"It's alright," he whispers. Her forehead's smoothing out. He strokes a thumb over her brow, lightly. 

"Hey-" he hears, making him startle. "Hey! Fuck off!" 

He turns as best he can to see Gemma screaming at some woman in a blue jacket two tables over. 

"Don't take fucking photos!" Gemma snaps, as the woman lowers her phone, and Nick stiffens, turning away from her. He hunches his back and fumbles for Sophie's blanket to cover her. Fucking hell. 

"Have a little decency! For Christ's sake, he's not doing anything newsworthy-" 

Nick shuts his eyes again, tries to tune her out. Nothing he can do, is there? Unless he stands up with Sophie hanging from his tit by the gums and goes over there to start a rumble. That'd be proper hard, wouldn't it. But no. He's got to be Zen or whatever. 

Sophie starts to slow after five minutes or so. Nick looks up. 

"Harry?" 

Harry sits down next to him, dragging a chair. He's smiling but his hands are shaking. 

"Hi." 

"We can- she's alright for now, I think. We could go." 

Harry nods, too many times. His eyes are watery. 

"Yeah," he says. "Let me take her, you get ready. Yeah?" 

Nick nods, and slips his thumb into Sophie's mouth, gently pulls her off. She goes easily, sleepy and heavy-eyed, pliant now that she’s got her fill. 

"There we are, babe," Harry says, voice low, lifting her from Nick's lap. Nick buttons his shirt quickly, palming over his damp nipple. He glances over at the woman who was taking the photos. She's watching him unabashedly, but she ducks when Nick raises his middle finger at her. Cow. 

There are gates up, like it's a premiere or something, instead of a lunch date. Harry hands Sophie back to Nick, and he holds her tight against his chest, ducks his head and makes his way to the car. Lights flash furiously, and the noise hurts, a headache pulsing right at the base of his neck. Halfway there, Sophie wakes up and goes wide-eyed and very still, paralyzed with something Nick hopes to God isn't fear. It's like night terrors, maybe. They make babies go mental but they don't remember it in the morning, like it never even happened. Maybe she won't remember. 

Christ. He's not taking her outside again until she's sixteen. He cradles her closer, feels Gemma's hand on his back, sees the car waiting, an eternal ten meters in front of them. 

Sophie's crying again by the time Nick climbs into the backseat. Tired crying, a sort of endless snivel against Nick's neck, tetchy and uncomfortable. Nick strokes her back as Gemma slams the door shut. 

For a minute it's silent. 

Gemma breaks it, letting out a strangled laugh. "Shit." 

"Yeah." Nick's eyes are going blurry, a release of adrenaline.

Harry just clenches his hands together in his lap, veins popping out in his arms. 

"You alright, Haz?" Nick says. "She's fine, y'know, don't- don't worry. She'll be fine." 

"I'm so fucking sick of this," Harry says, and his voice is shaking. 

"Harry, it was one time. We learned our lesson. Maybe we won't try new places for a while." 

"With idiotic fucking waiters and no back exit," Gemma says sourly. 

Sophie whimpers, and Nick looks down, cupping the back of her head. Silently, Harry hands him the pacifier. 

"You found it?" 

Harry nods, looking out the window. His shoulders heave, and Nick wipes the nook off and pops it into Sophie's mouth, watching as she settles right down peacefully, cheek to his chest, chubby cheeks working happily as she sucks. 

"Harry," he says, reaching out with one hand to touch his thigh. "We're alright." 

"What if she'd been really hurt or summat?" Harry chokes out. "And we couldn't get out. What if, like, you'd gotten hurt?" 

Nick inches his hand over to wrap it around Harry's clenched fists. He squeezes gently. 

"That's not going to happen, love." 

"It could-" 

"It won't. Here, hold her for a minute, alright?" 

He puts Sophie into Harry's lap, and Harry's forced to unfurl his fists. 

"She's alright," Nick murmurs. 

"This time." 

Nick draws in a shaky breath. 

"H, don't be dramatic," Gemma says tiredly. "Doesn't do any good to think about it like that." 

"They were fucking _screaming_ , Gem. I've had my bloody hair pulled out, I've been knocked over-" 

"Shh, love," Nick says softly. "She's asleep again."

Harry looks down at her, sniffing in hard. 

Nick leans against him. Kisses his shoulder and then pulls away, letting out a breath. None of them speak for the rest of the ride. 

\---

 **@grimmers** : Cheers to the woman who took secret photos of me feeding Sophie today. Really classy! Hope you get good $$ off them!!

 **@GemmaAnneStyles** : Today my aunt duties included telling off a waiter and trying not to punch a lot of stupid people. 

 **@GemmaAnneStyles** : Sometimes you have to wonder about our culture when people start screaming AT A SLEEPING INFANT. Good job, everybody.

 **@Harry_Styles** : Please if you see me or @grimmers out with Sophie if you could not yell or crowd her. She was really scared today. 

 **@Harry_Styles** : She didn't ask for any attention she's only little. Please please respect her it means a lot to us. Thank you.Xx

\---

"It's only a week." 

"I know it's only a week," Harry says, voice muffled from where he's lying on the carpet next to Sophie. He's watching her lie on her tummy, shaking a rattle in front of her face. "But I just dunno if it's too soon." 

"It's not like I want you to go," Nick says, tucking one foot up under him on the sofa and reaching for his mug of coffee. "I just think it'd be good to get all that stuff sorted out. Your house or whatever." 

Harry buzzes his lips at Sophie, and she squeaks in delight, arms slapping against the carpet. 

"It'd only be a few days," Harry says, to himself. "Like. A week at most." 

"We can handle a week. I'll get my mum and dad down to help out. Rally the troops. Gemma would love to take her off my hands." 

Harry strokes his fingers over the downy top of Sophie's head. She's busy flailing around and barely even notices. 

"What if she forgets about me?" Harry says quietly. Nick watches his cheeks go red. 

"She probably will," Nick says with a laugh. "Haz, she forgets about you when you go to the bloody toilet. She's an infant." 

"She doesn't forget _you_ ," Harry mutters bitterly. 

"Oh, she only cares about my nipples. I know. Babies are selfish little monsters. Eat, sleep, shit, repeat." 

Harry rolls his eyes up at Nick, and Nick laughs down at them, taking a gulp of his coffee. 

Harry turns back to Sophie, petting her head. "You're not selfish, are you, love? You love us. You love your daddies." 

Sophie drools onto her chin, dripping spit onto the floor. A clear answer. Nick hides a grin in his mug. 

Harry rolls onto his side, peering sadly up at Nick. 

"Don't want to leave." 

Nick kicks his ankle softly with one foot. "I know. You've got things to do, though." 

"Not really. I could hand the house off to the realtor. Could just, like, cancel the label meetings-" 

"Haz," Nick says, firmly. "You've already put it off. Get it sorted, and come home to us for good. Okay? Promise I won't go into labor this time." 

Harry laughs grudgingly, and sits up. Sophie gurgles happily when Harry lifts her by the waist, kisses her round onesie-covered belly and then sets her on his knee.

"Honestly, love," Nick says, pulling a blanket over his lap and yawning. "We'll be fine." 

"Can you stand up, baby girl?" Harry murmurs, holding Sophie by the arms and setting her bare feet on the carpet, facing Harry. "Can you? Oh look, you're so strong. You’re so strong." 

"You're so buff, Soph," Nick says, laughing. "Killer thigh muscles." 

"Ga!" she shrieks. 

"I know, ga, ga, ga," Harry murmurs. "Ga. Oh, that's so good." 

He draws in a shaky breath, watching her. 

"Bet by the time I come back she'll be walking," he says, a tragic look on his face. 

"Uhh, how long are you planning on leaving?" Nick snorts. "Cos she can't even crawl yet." 

"You know what I mean. It's the principle of it." 

"The principle of it is that you need to get your shit sorted," Nick says firmly. "And this is the best time, when she's still little enough that she's not an utter screaming pain to take out of the house. Most of the time, anyway." 

"You're not a pain," Harry says to Sophie, offended. She blinks at him wide-eyed. Nick knows the truth. The truth is she is a pain. She screams at the drop of a hat and she doesn't care about them as long as they feed her and she gums on Nick's nipples like they're a chew toy. 

Nick's quite in love anyway. It's a bit like taking care of your best mate when they're really, really pissed. Except Nick doesn't feed his drunk friends from his tits. 

"I'll be back really soon, Sophster, I promise," Harry whispers. He ducks to press their foreheads together, and Nick fumbles hastily for his phone under his leg. 

"Nick," Harry says warningly. 

"Just - keep still." 

Harry scoffs, but his mouth curves up, and he stays just like that while Nick snaps a few photos. He loves it, really. No stranger to a photoshoot, is Harry Styles. 

"Can we move yet?" Harry asks after a minute.

"Yeah," Nick says, scrolling through the pictures. "Fucking hell, my baby's so cute. And you're alright, I guess." 

"Fa!" Sophie says, and Harry's face collapses into a grin, all creased, eyes crinkling at the corners. He pulls her into his arms, and she babbles happily at him. 

"Nick," he says. Nick looks up. "Her first word's going to be the F-word if you keep that up." 

"Oh my _god_ , Styles, pot fu- bloody kettle. You say it constantly." 

"I don't!”

Nick raises an eyebrow at him, and Harry giggles. Sophie echoes it, eyes squinting just like her dad's.

"Ugh," Nick says, waving his hands in front of his face. "Stop doing that. Stop it." 

"What?" Harry says, swaying Sophie back and forth, making fish-lips at her as she grabs for his hair. 

"Stop being so - perfect. You know it freaks me out." 

"Here, then," Harry says, holding Sophie up, his nose wrinkling. "If you want not-perfect, go change her. Think she just dropped a load." 

Nick moans, and pulls himself up off the sofa. 

\---

Later, when Harry's gone early to the airport and Nick's alone in bed at half-six, waiting for Sophie's first cry, he looks at the photos again. 

They’re so precious Nick sort of hates himself. He's jealous of himself, which is weird and makes no sense. Maybe he's got split personalities. One's still twenty-five year old Nick, overweight and a little lonely and unsettled and wanting more, and one's him now. Still overweight, if he's honest, but with everything else just - perfect. 

Perfect perfect perfect. It's almost too much. Nick can't possibly have all this. Something's going to come along and take it away. He draws in an unsteady breath and texts Harry. 

_At airport yet?_

_Can't sleep. Becareful please?? Feel sick. Blehhhh_

He rubs a hand over his tired eyes. 

Harry texts back in a minute flat. 

_Ill be so careful promise. Just getting through security now. Love you so much. Tell S. good morning and that I love her x_

Nick scrubs away a stupid stray tear. He's being an idiot, he knows that. It's just different now, with Sophie. Nick's not the only one being left. 

Life's stupid, innit. He's spent thirty-three years learning how to take care of himself, and now he's all vulnerable and terrified, running around like a chicken without its head. All because of an infant. All because of a lot of vodka and a missing condom. 

It was easier before. Nick can admit that. He doesn't want to go back - he's never really been one for nostalgia. But he can admit it, that it was easier then, when Nick only had to worry about himself. When he could fuck up, do stupid shite, and no one got hurt except for him. 

He sniffles again, and types back - _Will do. Feel so stupid just miss you already._

There's too much else to say, so he puts a blue heart and a crying emoji and a skull. 

Harry calls him. 

"Lo?" Nick mumbles, picking up after two rings. 

"Do you want me to come home?" 

"No, no." Nick sucks in a breath, composing himself. "No. I'm fine." 

"You put a skull, Nick." 

"Oh my god, it was just an emoji," Nick says, laughing thickly. "I'm fine. I also put skulls when the food takes too long at a restaurant." 

Harry laughs quietly. 

"Where are you?" Nick asks, turning over in bed and inspecting the baby monitor, flicking the volume up. Not a peep. She's sleeping late today. 

"At the gate. There were paps outside, so it took a while." He sighs. "I miss you." 

Nick shuts his eyes. "Miss you too. Ugh." 

Harry laughs again. "Love how surprised you are to have feelings, Grim. Every time." 

Nick bites down a smile. "Fuck off." 

"Sophie's still asleep?" 

"Yeah. A miracle of nature." 

"Might've worn her out when I went to say goodbye. Couldn’t bloody make myself leave. And now I've got my sunglasses on inside like a dick cos my eyes are all red." 

Nick laughs shakily. "Bet you look like a reaaal stuck-up celebrity."

There's a silence. Nick listens to Harry breathe, and to the faint sound of an airport loudspeaker in the distance, the chatter of people around him. 

"Come back really soon," he says, voice cracking with how much he means it. 

"I will." 

"Just- god. Come back." 

"I will, Grim, I promise. Really soon." 

Nick nods, and says, "Yeah, alright." 

"I-" Harry breaks off as another announcement sounds in the background. "Shit, we're boarding. I'll speak to you as soon as I get in." 

Nick turns back over in bed, fumbles for Harry's pillow and pulls it to his chest. 

"Nick?" 

"Yeah," Nick says. "Sorry. Go on." 

"I love you, alright? I love you." 

Harry sounds teary, and Nick shuts his eyes. 

"Don't cry," he says, wobbly. 

"I'm not," Harry lies. "I'm fine. They're calling first class, I've got to go." 

"Quiche," Nick chokes out, and Harry laughs down the line, voice crackly and warm. 

"Shut it. I love you." 

"Yeah, you too." 

"Tell Sophie." 

"I will." 

Harry hangs up, and Nick heaves out a sigh. 

He pulls up Instagram, chooses his favorite photo of Harry and Sophie from the day before. Harry's eyes are closed and Sophie's gumming out a smile at him and they look so happy Nick's heart hurts. 

He doesn't know what to say. Everything either sounds smug or trite, so he settles for every single color of heart-emoji, plus six smiling suns and the dancing lady in the red dress.  

He hits Send, and the monitor crackles with a sleepy cry, right on cue. 

"Good morning, Soph," he murmurs, and rolls out of bed. 

\---

**9.7.2018 TROUBLE IN BABY PARADISE? HARRY STYLES TAKES OFF FOR LOS ANGELES SANS FAMILY...**

_It’s only 8:30 AM and we’re in utter distress, Sugarscapers. New dad Harry Styles was photographed at Heathrow this morning, boarding a flight to - wait for it - Los Angeles! Yes, all the way in America, all the way across the ocean, towards sunlight and celebrities and his four-million dollar house… he’s leaving us!_

_But it’s not us we’re worried about (selfless, we are!), it’s Harry’s shiny new family - his 5-month-old daughter Sophie Anne and her dad, old friend Nick Grimshaw. The three of them have been nesting at home, avoiding all paparazzi, and posting adorable tweets and Instagram photos of their cozy new-dad life. So why’s Hazza jetting off to California all of a sudden?!?_

_“Harry needed some time away,” one insider told Star magazine. “He’s really feeling the pressure of fatherhood and commitment and he’s starting to second-guess his decisions.”_

_“He loves Sophie, of course, but he’s starting to fight with Nick quite often and he’s looking to relax in LA and avoid the constant nagging.”_

_We hate to listen to rumors, but… well, what are we saying, we love to listen to rumors. To further confuse matters, Grimmy posted an absolutely heart-melting shot of Harry and Sophie on Instagram only a half hour after Harry was photographed at the airport and captioned it with about a million heart emojis! WHAT IS THE TRUTH, BOYS? And also, how is Sophie SO cute? Did you create her in a lab?? Be honest._

_Should we be actually worried about England’s favorite famous family? Your opinion in the comments, please!_

\---

The doorbell goes when Nick's alone in the house, his mum and dad gone back up North after three frankly excruciating days of unadulterated family time. The babysitting is not worth his mum nosing around in their house looking for God-knows-what and Pete sitting on the sofa demanding refills like Nick's not already taking care of one needy infant. 

Nick heaves himself up from where he's lying in his favorite giant chair with Soph curled on his chest and sets her down in her sleeper. He's irritated, exhausted, and probably looks like a greasy-haired nutcase, so it doesn't help his mood that the person standing at the front door is Louis Tomlinson. 

Louis blinks at him. 

"You look awful," he says, and Nick nearly, nearly slams the door in his face. 

"Thanks," he says instead, flatly. "What a nice greeting. Harry's not here, by the way." 

"Yeah, I know, was all over the papers that he's fucked off to LA," Louis says, peering inside. "I came to talk to you. Where's Soph?" 

"Inside." 

"Mm," Louis says vaguely, and ducks under Nick's arm. When Nick turns around, Louis is kicking off his shoes and walking barefoot into the living room. 

"Hi, love!" he says, voice going gooey as he kneels in front of Sophie. "Hi! Did you miss your Uncle Louis? Did ya? Oh, c'mere, sweet thing, c'mere, little one-" 

He lifts Sophie out of the sleeper and onto his hip, and she puts her head against his chest, one little fist banging against his neck. 

"Hiii," Louis whispers, rocking her. "Hello, gorgeous."

"What're you doing here, Louis?" Nick asks, crossing an arm over his chest, watching Louis bounce Sophie gently. 

"Wanted to see Sophie, obviously," Louis says, in his squeaky baby voice. "Coz she's the sweetest little bean in the whole _world_ , isn't she?" 

"You said you wanted to talk to me," Nick says, feeling stupid. 

Louis looks up at him with his hooded eyes, and Nick goes red, automatically. He really hates that he's intimidated by a five foot something boybander with the maturity of a twelve year old, but whenever he sees Louis he thinks _you'll fuck her up, you've got your own issues_. He thinks it a lot, actually. Even when Louis' not there. It's kind of his go-to middle-of-the-night panicky refrain, repeating over and over in his head.  

Especially lately, with Harry gone. The nights have been - well. Nick doesn't need to think about that now. 

"Yeah," Louis says. "Guess so. Think she'd nap if I put her down?" 

Nick holds out his arms, and Louis says, "It's fine, I'll do it," and pads off down the hallway towards the nursery. 

Nick follows him, already feeling his throat start to go dangerously hot. Fuck. He wishes Harry were here instead of all the way in LA. Though actually, Harry's pretty thick about this stuff, about the way Louis makes Nick feel like a complete fucking idiot.

It's mostly in Nick's head, he knows that. Harry doesn't see it that well, because Nick's quite good at hiding it. 

He watches Louis lay Sophie down carefully in her crib, set the mobile above it spinning with a flick of his finger. 

"Kitchen?" Louis whispers. 

"Fine," Nick says, peering down at Sophie, making sure she's alright. She blinks up at him, face creased in a grin. Nick takes a deep breath, follows Louis outside. 

"So," Louis says, once he's put the kettle on, because he is apparently physically incapable of being somewhere without having tea. 

"So," Nick echoes, sat at the kitchen counter, baby monitor next to him, watching Louis suspiciously. "Why d'you need to talk to me?" 

Louis lifts his teabag in and out of the mug. 

"So Harry talked to me," he says, not making eye contact. "About, like. That letter he sent you, from the Bahamas." 

"British Virgin Islands," Nick corrects automatically. 

Louis waves a hand. "Wherever he fucked off to." 

Nick huffs a grudging laugh, runs his fingers idly over the baby monitor. Sophie's silent, asleep. 

"He told me he said all this stuff about, like, finding himself, and not being able to commit, and wanting to stop, like, whatever you two were doing," Louis says, reaching for the sugar bowl and dumping in two huge spoonfuls. "And it was a load of bullshit, of course, but that's Haz for you." 

Nick's not exactly in the mood to commiserate about the father of his child with the person who most hates him in the world. He just looks at Louis, flatly. 

"And I think the point is, like," Louis says. "Like. I'm sorry. For what I said that, uh, that night at dinner." 

He takes a gulp of his tea, not looking at Nick. 

Nick doesn't mean to _stare_ , but he's sort of taken aback. 

"And I still think it was fucked, that you didn't tell him, because he- he's Harry, you know, he's an idiot sometimes but he's solid, he- he would've come back if he'd known, but. I guess. I get it, a bit. And. Sorry."

"Thanks," Nick says. He means it, too, even though it doesn't take away the things Louis said about him. Louis means that stuff, probably, still. 

"Yeah, well." Louis sips his tea again. His face is a bit flushed. "Whatever." 

"Yeah, whatever," Nick says, looking down. "He's stuck with me, innit. Can't be helped." 

Louis looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Christ," he says, bitterly amused. "You really hate yourself, don't you?" 

Nick looks up at that, eyes widening, and - and oh, fucking, _god_ , he's going to cry again. He's going to fucking- 

"Can you go?" he says, hiding his face, slipping off the stool and trying to breathe. "Thanks, for like, saying sorry. Thanks. Just. Can you go." 

"Nick-" 

"Please," Nick says, but it comes out wet and then he's sobbing. He balances himself against the counter, rides it out, ducking his head. God, he's so fucking tired. He doesn't even know where his head's at.

"Nick," Louis says again, voice closer, and then there's a hand on his back. "Hey. It's fine. You're fine." 

"I really fucking hate you," Nick chokes out. "I really hate you. You make me feel like shit." 

Louis mutters something unintelligible. 

"You fucking- I _know_ I'm bad at it, I know I'm not good at feeding her or - or anything, I'm always messing up and I know that, okay, but me mum told me that everyone's bad at the beginning, so I'm not- I'm not fucking her up," Nick says, voice stumbling, and he doesn't want to say this shit, especially to Louis, but it won't stop coming out. 

"Course you're not," Louis says, his hand moving up and down Nick's back. That's the only place they're touching. If it were Harry, Nick would be wrapped up in a bear hug by now, squeezed tight until he's too breathless to cry. "You're not fucking her up. She's fine. She's doing good." 

"I don't want her to be messed up," Nick gasps out. "Because I've got issues. That's what you think, innit? I've got _issues_." 

Louis doesn't stop stroking his spine. 

"Everyone's got issues," he says. "And I was fucking pissed off. I say stupid shit when I'm angry, you can ask Harry. I - I don't mean it. Okay? I don't mean it." 

"I don't care," Nick says, scrubbing his eyes with his hand, trying to breathe deep. "I really don't care what you think. You're not even my bloody friend." 

"I know." 

"So why, like, why do you make me feel like shit?" Nick says, thickly. "Like why do you do that?"

Louis' hand stops moving. 

"Dunno," he says, his own voice scratchy. He clears his throat. "I just. Do that to people." 

He clears his throat again. "I mean, I can tell you some psychological theories my ex-girlfriend's floated-" 

Nick gulps out a laugh, and Louis takes his hand off his back. 

"All I want," Louis says. "Like, not _all_ I want, but - but what I want, is for Harry to be happy. Because, like. Harry's such a fucking good person. Don't tell him I said that. You know what I mean, though? He - he deserves, like, to have the things he wants. Even when he's an idiot." 

Nick nods, and Louis says, staring into his mug, "And he does, now. He's got you and Sophie. And he's so happy, it's actually really bloody irritating." 

"He's happy?" Nick asks, weakly. 

"Yeah, idiot," Louis says, with a laugh. "He keeps going on, like, _Lou, I honestly didn't know I could feel this much, I didn't know I could love someone so much_ , blah, blah, lots of sappy shit that'll probably show up in a song in like six months." 

Nick tries not to smile stupidly and fails. Louis rolls his eyes. 

"Christ, you're just as bad as he is." 

"Shut up," Nick says, wiping at his face, grinning. "I am not."

Louis looks at him for a second like he's never seen Nick before, and then back down into his tea. 

"You're not a shit dad," he says. "Trust me, I know shit dads."

Nick sniffs in hard, steals Louis' cup of tea to take a sip, and Louis squawks half-heartedly, tries to grab it back. 

"And I wasn't bloody insulting your parenting, last time," he adds, turning around to flick the kettle on. "It's just summat my mum taught me, the neck thing." 

Nick nods. He's not gonna tell Louis he's been doing it that way ever since. Louis doesn't deserve that just yet. 

"And, like, just," Louis says, chewing his lip. "Like. You and Harry, you're like-" 

He's cut off by a crackle from the monitor, and then a whimper, and Nick grabs for it like Louis’ going to snatch it away.

"She's up," he says, and then, hesitantly, "Do you want to get her?" 

Louis narrows his eyes like he's trying to detect a trace of pity on Nick's face. 

"Go on," Nick says, drawing in a deep wobbly breath, grabbing a tissue to scrub at his nose. "Change her nappy, while you're at it. Pull your weight, Tomlinson."

Louis chews his lip, studying him, and turns on his heel.

\--- 

"So," Nick says, once they've settled into a slightly-uneasy quiet on the sofa, both with new cups of tea. Nick's watching the easy way Louis holds Sophie, one hand under her freshly-nappied bum and the other on her back. "You said ex-girlfriend. I didn't know you'd split up." 

Louis coos at Sophie, lets her grab at his hair. "Yeah, well. Neither does Haz. Was only, like. Six- uh. Yeah. Six days ago? Thursday, yeah." 

"Oh shit," Nick breathes. "I'm sorry." 

Louis shrugs, not looking at him. 

"Yeah," he says. "It's pretty- you know." 

He bounces Sophie in his arms. 

"Pretty shit," he says, lightly. "Like super fucking shit, innit?" 

He smiles at Sophie, chucks her under the chin, and Sophie burbles happily. 

"What, uh, what happened?" Nick asks, carefully. "I mean, you don't have to tell me. But I'm pretty good at relationship advice. Despite my shit track record." 

Louis doesn't look away from Sophie, which Nick doesn't mind at all. Louis' better at talking when he's got a baby to distract him. 

"Suppose I wanted one of _these_ ," he says, moving Sophie's fat little arm up and down demonstratively, play-biting at her fingers. "And to get, like. Married, and the whole thing. She didn't want all that. Least not with me." 

He bites his bottom lip. 

"Reckon I sort of got dumped," he says, a bit shakily, and he huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. "Don't tell Harry that bit, alright? I'm going for a whole, _it was mutual_ thing. He worries." 

"He certainly does," Nick says. "It's a bloody pain." 

Louis laughs again, ducking his head.

"Well, you can always get drunk and knock someone up and then go to an island for eight months and come back just in time for an infant," Nick says. "I mean, it's foolproof, that." 

Louis snorts, bouncing the infant in question on his knee. Sophie's eyes are droopy but she makes a happy sound. She really is quite, quite fond of Louis. 

"It was never that mental, though," Louis says. "You and Harry."

Nick's chest clenches. 

"Really?" he says, looking down, tugging on a fringe of the blanket on his lap. "First I've heard of that. Seeing as you once said he deserved - what was it? So much better than me?" 

Louis looks at him, face narrowing. "I didn't mean that, and I just said I-" 

"I know," Nick says, without heat. He shouldn't have said it either. They don't need to go over it again. "I know. It's fine." 

"You and Harry are like-" Louis starts, and he waves a hand in the air. "Just. Like. Do you know how easily he gets bored of people? He never got bored of you." 

"Well, we've got a lifetime to test that theory," Nick says wryly.

"You're so annoying," Louis mutters. "God." 

"Watch it," Nick says mildly. "I can still take my baby back."

"He's in love with you," Louis says, ignoring him. "He's proper in love with you. Soph's gonna grow up with her parents madly in love. So don't fucking, like. Don't do that thing where you act like he's gonna get tired of you." 

"You don't know if he'll get tired of me-" 

"Stop it." Louis goes quiet, like he's realizing his voice is too sharp. Sophie's unbothered, gumming happily at the string on the front of his hoodie. When he speaks next his voice is hushed. 

"Listen, alright? Harry didn't, like, grow up with his mum and dad together. You know how he is. Soft, like. He always- wanted this. Like, he fucks around - _fucked_ around, I mean, and he liked that too, but this is always what he wanted, eventually." 

His face is red. 

"He wants to do this whole thing," he says, quietly, lifting Sophie up, facing him, so her bare toes brush against his denim-clad thighs. "So don't fuck it up." 

Nick huffs a strained laugh. His chest feels tight. 

"Cheers, Tomlinson." 

Louis just kisses Sophie's nose, and then her plump cheek, and stands up from the sofa with her in his arms. 

"Here," he says, placing her in Nick's lap. "I've got to go, like, drink or something." 

"We've got vodka," Nick says, carefully, as Sophie snuggles up against his chest. Louis probably shouldn't go off by himself, now. He looks a little shaky. "Drink some vodka for me. Pass out here. Spare bedroom's yours if you like." 

"That's so pathetic," Louis says, not facing him. Nick watches him swipe his wrist over his nose. "I've got other friends, you know, I don't fucking need to be here." 

"Someone's really pitying themselves tonight," Nick says lightly. "You're six days post-break up, Tomlinson, you're in a fragile state. Get in the kitchen, get yourself a vodka. I'm going to feed Soph and then you can have a cry on my shoulder if you like." 

Louis huffs a choked laugh. 

"You don't have to do this," he says, a bit muffled. "Pretend to give a shit."

"Course I don't. But I absolutely _do_ need to watch someone get pissed, because I haven't had a drink in fucking forever. Breastfeeding is shit." 

Louis shifts to his other foot. 

"Where's the vodka?" he says, and Nick grins. 

"The freezer, of course. You better get down two shots at least before I come back out." 

Louis looks at him sideways, laughing. His eyes are red. "You're fucking mental." 

Nick shrugs. "It's up for debate. Go on." 

He waits til Louis' in the kitchen, the fridge door creaking, before he staggers up to his feet with Sophie in his arms. He takes her to the nursery, lies her down on the bed so he can get his shirt off, then snugs her up against his chest the way Louis taught him. 

He's just switching her over to the left side when the door creaks open. Louis leans against the side, a glass of something clear in one hand. Good lord, Nick hopes he found the tonic in the fridge and isn't just drinking straight vodka. Though he wouldn't judge. He's been there. 

"Got to stop walking in on me like this," Nick says, huffing a laugh. "Maybe it's normal for bleedin' midwives or whatever, but I'm Northern, you shouldn't get to see my tits til you've put a ring on my finger. No milk before you buy the cow, or however it goes." 

Louis snorts. "Bout half of London's put a ring on your finger, then, Grimmy." 

"Sod off," Nick says, amused. 

There's a moment of quiet. Louis takes a long sip of his vodka, and Nick watches Sophie nurse, her eyes closed happily and her mouth working in deep swallows. 

"Think he will?" Louis asks. "Put a ring on your finger?" 

Nick's heartbeat picks up just a touch. 

"Dunno," he says. "Why shouldn't I put a ring on _his_ finger?" 

"Cos you're mental and you think he's gonna want to leave you," Louis says, which is - true, weirdly enough. Nick would never ask. He would never ask Harry for more than what he's already got. How the hell does Louis Tomlinson know that, though? 

Nick shrugs. 

"If he wants to," he says. "Who knows." 

Louis' quiet, and Nick lifts Sophie's head away when her mouth slows and she's nursing half-heartedly, full and content. She'll sleep well tonight, even without Harry singing to her. 

It gives him a pang to think about Harry's soft sincere little lullabies, like an actual pang of want in the bottom of his belly, and Nick laughs at himself. 

"What?" Louis asks. 

"It's just- I miss him," Nick says, kissing the downy top of Sophie's head. "He's only gone for a week and I really miss him. He used to leave for months, and now I can't even handle a bleeding week. It's pathetic." 

"Think that's how it's supposed to be, innit," Louis says, voice unreadable.

Nick looks up at him, raising an eyebrow, and Louis turns on his heel and leaves them alone.

Nick gets dressed, sets Sophie in her swing in the living room, burbling happily, drooling down her chin. He finds Louis sitting at the kitchen counter, a cup of tea on his left and vodka on the right. 

Nick sits next to him, bumps knees companionably. 

"The crying can start any time," he says, and Louis chokes out a laugh, gulps at his tea. 

"Mate, be careful," he says. "Don't know what you're getting yourself into." 

"Pshh, I can handle it." Nick waves him off, and then steals a sip of his tea. Louis' very good at making tea. "My friends are mental. My mate Pixie cried for literally twelve hours straight when she split up with her first real boyfriend. _Literally_ twelve hours. We almost had to take her to hospy for dehydration. And guess who was there for all of it? Me. Even tried to cook for her, nearly burned the flat down." 

Louis laughs, kicking his foot against the counter. 

"Also, I have a _baby_ ," Nick snorts. "So yeah, I can handle a few tears." 

Louis doesn't cry, though. He just takes a sip of his vodka, wincing. 

"The fucked-up thing," he says. "Is that I'm scared to be single. Like just fucking scared." 

Nick hums quietly. He's been single his entire life, basically, so he's not got many words of wisdom. 

"I think, like, I think maybe I was holding on because I didn't want to be by myself," Louis says, not looking at him. "Not cos I actually - was still in love with her. You know?" 

"Well, that's a good amount of insight for six days post-breakup," Nick says, watching him.  

"I just want, like, I want the kids and the fucking house and the family. All of it. When my mum was twenty-six she had me and Lottie already, and I've got nothing. I'm bloody single, and unemployed, and-" 

"Unemployed!" Nick laughs. "You're famous, that's being employed. S'not like you're on the dole or summat." 

Louis rolls his eyes. 

"Being famous for doing nothing isn't being fucking employed. It's just an embarrassment. I'm like a bloody Kardashian at this point, fucking around doing nothing." 

"Jesus," Nick says, letting out a long breath. "You're quite hard on yourself, Tomlinson." 

Louis glares at him. 

"Just saying. You don't _actually_ have to be putting out an album every six months or whatever. I know that's the schedule you're used to, but it's alright to take a break. Fuck, after One Direction you deserve to take a break for the rest of your bloody life if you like." 

Louis looks down into his tea. "Yeah, well, I _don't_ like," he mutters. 

"Look at that, a popstar with a work ethic, who knew." 

"We don't all talk shite and go to parties for a living." 

"Yeah, you just _sing_ shite," Nick retorts. "I've been playing it coooool, but when I'm lookin' at youuu-" 

"Fucking hipster," Louis says, but he's laughing as Nick keeps singing, improvising the lyrics a bit when he forgets. "God, you're murdering that." 

"Hey, Harry loves when I serenade him with his own songs." 

"Harry's obviously gone deaf. Sad, really." 

Nick shoves Louis' hip, snorting, and Louis smiles into his vodka. 

\---

Harry comes home from LA a day early, unannounced. Nick's asleep but he wakes up at a loud crackle from the baby monitor, sits up in bed slowly. Sophie gurgles, and then Nick hears someone else's voice, a low hoarse voice, and he nearly has a fucking heart attack. 

"Oh god," he chokes out in horror, just as Harry starts singing, low and soft. 

Nick lets out a sob of a laugh, putting his hand over his face. 

"Bloody idiot," he whispers, heart still pounding. Harry keeps singing, transitioning from Coldplay into vintage One Direction, some album track that Nick vaguely recognizes. Nick laughs again, loud in the hush of his room, and climbs out of bed. 

He stops at the door of Sophie's nursery. Harry's got her in his arms, and he's rocking her slowly back and forth, humming under his breath, looking down at her with soft adoring eyes. Nick's way too exhausted to get emotional. Thank God, though. Thank fucking God he’s home. Nick leans against the doorway, coughs into the crook of his elbow.

Harry whirls around quickly, letting out a rough breath. 

"Shit," he says, hushed. "You scared me." 

"You scared _me_ , idiot," Nick says. "Talking on the baby monitor. Thought she was getting kidnapped." 

Harry huffs out a laugh, dimple popping out. His hair's down around his face, greasy from a day of travel, his face tanned and tired.

"Thought you were getting back tomorrow," Nick says, feeling oddly shy. Weird, isn't it, considering Harry's his- whatever he is, and he's holding their daughter. And Nick's still all fluttery like it's his first crush and Harry'll bolt any second. For some reason Nick thinks of Louis and his wry face. _Think that's how it's supposed to be, innit?_

Harry shifts Sophie in his arms, getting her comfortable. "Yeah. Changed my flight." 

"Did you? That must've cost an arm and a leg." 

Harry shrugs. 

"Couldn't really bloody stand being there anymore," he says. "To be honest. Went sort of mental." 

Nick crosses an arm over his chest, something going queer and wobbly in his stomach. 

"Miss me?" 

Harry pulls Sophie closer. "So fucking much."

Nick lets out a breath. Harry ducks his head, brushing his lips over Sophie's forehead. 

"She didn't forget you," Nick says. "Got proper emo about your absence, in fact. Cried and cried." 

Harry smiles at him over her head, and Nick clutches himself tightly because his knees are trying to betray him, going all trembly. 

"Come to bed," he says. 

Harry rubs his palm up Sophie's back. "She fed?" 

"An hour ago," Nick says, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, yawning. "Changed her too." 

"Guess you survived without me," Harry says, not looking that happy about it. 

Nick rolls his eyes. "I've barely slept, Sophie screamed for three hours straight yesterday for no bloody reason, and I don't even know what day it is. We've not _survived_ , Harry. I mean, we technically have, but it don't bloody feel like it." 

Harry's mouth curves up, and he ducks his head to hide it.

"You like that, don't you!" Nick says indignantly. "That we're an absolute mess without you!" 

Harry shrugs, not giving anything away. His eyes are crinkled. 

"God, you sadist," Nick says quietly, laughing. "Put her down. Come to bed." 

"Got to take a shower, I smell awful." 

Nick yawns hugely, leaning his head against the door. "Alright. Meet me in there then." 

Back in bed, he can hear Harry on the monitor, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. It lulls him to sleep, that sound. Harry's warm voice. Nick's just as easy as Sophie. 

He wakes up again when Harry climbs into bed. He's warm and damp and smells of shampoo and his weird spicy herbal soap. Nick shivers happily, turning over to face him, breathing him in. 

Harry leans forward to kiss him, mouth minty. 

"S'good to be home," he murmurs. 

Nick yawns, ducks his head to put his face against Harry's bare chest. 

Harry strokes his hair, cautiously, like Nick'll be scared off by any sudden movements. Nick knows why. He doesn't usually sleep like this, all cuddled up. He likes his space most of the time, especially when his chest is sore and his skin all prickly and hot like it's been lately. 

But it's been a week. A week sleeping alone. Nick huffs out an unsteady breath against Harry's chest. 

This is what Sophie likes. To lay against Nick's chest, kip all cuddled up to him that way. The doctor said it soothes her. Feeling Nick's heart, thumping loud and steady, the way it sounded when she was still inside him. 

Nick nestles closer to Harry and pretends he can hear Harry's heartbeat that way. 

Harry rubs the back of his neck, right in the spot that's always sore lately. Nick hums in sleepy pleasure, and then in annoyance, cos Harry keeps shifting around and Nick can't hear his heart if he doesn't lie still.

"Keep still," he mumbles. 

"Mm?" Harry breathes. 

"Keep. Still." Nick rolls his head on Harry's chest, holds his breath until he can hear it. He listens, eyes closed. 

"What're you doing?" Harry asks bemusedly. 

"Shh," Nick mutters, half-asleep. "Heartbeat thing. Shh, sleepy." 

Harry breathes out a laugh, scritching Nick's scalp with gentle fingers. 

"Heartbeat, did you say? Whassat?" 

"Shhh," Nick says, and falls asleep. 

\---

Nick's thirty-fourth birthday comes up faster than he thought it would. It starts inauspiciously, at half one in the morning, when Sophie wakes up and Nick stumbles blindly to the nursery, picks her up, sits on the daybed and tucks her up against his chest. 

He's barely woken up when he remembers - hey. Birthday. Nice. He's got a full day ahead, birthday lunch with Gemma and dinner with all his mates and a night out- a proper night out without the baby, with drinks and a bar and _music_ \- but for now he's content to just sit. Right here. 

He smiles down at Sophie, eyes half-closed. 

"S'your dad's birthday, sprout," he mumbles. "I'm old now." 

Last year he felt old, too, but it was - heavier. Scarier. The year ahead felt interminable - uncharted terrain - and Nick was alone. 

He pulls Sophie against his chest, lets out a long breath. None of that now. No middle-of-the-night emotions. No time for that. He'll waste precious moments he could be sleeping. 

When she's sorted he burps her against his shoulder, wrinkles his nose and throws the sticky flannel in the hamper. She's sleepy, content, nodding off against his bare shoulder, smelling of baby powder and that sweet scent of milk. Nick stares down at her for a long moment. 

She really is proper cute. That'd be the popstar's doing, probably. He was always quite a sweet-looking baby, Nick's seen the photos. 

Nick looked a bit like an alien. He was an adorable toddler, if he does say so himself - all ruddy round cheeks and freckles - but as a baby, well. Weird little beady eyes and a perma-frown and no hair. Not cute at all. 

"You're beautiful," he whispers to Sophie, bouncing her in his arms. "Aren't you, love. You're like a Benetton baby. Like a little baby model. Not that I'm going to let you become a baby model. Pressures of the industry and all that. You're much too young. But the point is, you _could_ , cos you're perfect."

Sophie yawns, lays her head against Nick’s chest. Sometimes she does these _things_ , like she’s a real person, and it makes Nick weak. He doesn’t know when he’ll get over it. 

"Night, Soph," he murmurs, petting her plump cheek with two fingers, heart twisting in his chest. "Back to bed now.”

\---

6:00 PM the day after his birthday, and Nick's still hungover. He had two beers and _one_ round of tequila shots - okay, two, but who's counting - and his head is throbbing like someone's beating a bloody drum in there. Harry - resilient child that he is - is taking Sophie for a walk because she won't stop wailing. Nick's sure she's got a long list of grievances - feeding from the bottle because Nick's milk was full of booze, not being constantly entertained all day, her teeth coming in like wildfire. Poor thing. Nick would really be more sympathetic if his head would stop pounding. 

He slowly makes himself a cup of tea, peers into the fridge and shuts it again, nearly gagging into his wrist at the thought of making himself dinner. He simultaneously wants Harry to be out with Sophie and to be in the house cooking Nick an elaborate meal. Maybe he needs to hire a servant or summat. A personal chef. Make him nice vegan meals and the baby weight'll drop off like nothing. 

He's taking his tea over the sofa when he sees it. A white envelope with _Nick Grimshaw_ written in pen on the outside, nothing else, no address. It's lying on the kitchen table, right next to one of Sophie's pacifiers and a stack of unopened mail. 

Nick picks it up, and turns it over. It's not sealed. There's two sheets inside, folded in thirds, cream-colored unlined journal paper. 

Harry. Of course. Nick sits at the kitchen table, setting his tea down. 

 _Nick_ , the letter starts. Nick exhales shakily, a queasy sense of deja vu making him shiver.

_I wanted to write you another letter. The last one I wrote to you was shit. I want a do-over. Hope that's okay._

Nick huffs a laugh. 

_I'm sitting in the kitchen. You're asleep, Sophie's asleep (thank God!), but I'm awake. Maybe it's jetlag. I dunno. I can't stop thinking about you, and about that letter I wrote. Over a year ago now._

_We've never really talked about when I was in the BVIs. I wish I could say that I was lonely, the whole time, and sad, and that I missed you every second. It's not true. The BVIs felt like a release. I felt free. I felt like I could see myself again and like I was rebuilding the person I was before things started to go south with the band._

_But after a while all I started to think was- what's the point of having all this, the island, the money, the freedom, if I wasn't sharing it with the people I loved? I started to miss my family and the band and my friends and you. I got away from the bad stuff but I left the good stuff behind too, and I think that taught me that maybe it's not worth it, to live alone and be isolated. That the good and the bad go together and I needed them both._

_By the way, I didn't shag a load of girls on the island like I know you think I did. I had sex with three people. All women, and with two of them it only happened once. Most of the time I did yoga and swam and got really high and pretended it was helping me "find myself". That's all. I know you want to know even if you won't admit it, so there it is._

Nick sniffs in hard. The little shit. 

_The point is that when I was in the BVIs I wasn't living. I wasn't really living because I don't think life matters until you share it with other people. I checked out for a little while. And maybe it's what I needed right then in my life, but it wasn't ever going to last._

_When I sent you that letter, the only thing on my mind was not letting my fucked-up brain hurt you. Because I felt fucked up. I felt like I couldn't love anyone properly and I needed to be alone. I used to picture you being happy with someone else and it always hurt so bad. It physically hurt to think about you being in love with someone else other than me. But I'd rather hurt myself than you. I'm not saying I'm selfless but I know that for a fact, I'd rather hurt myself than hurt you. I think that's love. I think I just didn't get that at the time. Or maybe I got it but I didn't want to._

Nick's chest hurts. He flips to the next page, draws in a shaky breath, keeps reading. 

_I still regret not being here for most of the pregnancy. I don't think I'm ever going to not regret that. I know how scary it is to be pregnant. Well I don't know personally obviously but I've talked to Lou about it, before she had Astrid. It's scary and you feel alone. And I'm sorry a thousand times that you ever had to feel like I wasn't there for you. I'm so sorry._

_Which brings me to what I actually want to say._

_Nick. I love my life so much. I love my life with you so much. I love Sophie so much. I'm in love with you. I'm crying while I write this (maybe because of jetlag...) but mostly because I can't believe how lucky I am. I've been saying that since I was sixteen, "I can't believe how lucky I am." But it's never felt more true. All the band stuff was good and is good. I never would've met you without it. I never would've met my closest friends and there's the money and the music and everything. I know and I'm grateful. But this is actually real, what we're doing now._

_This is actually happening!!!_

_Sorry, I just still need to tell myself that. We are actually dads. Sophie is actually ours. We're actually doing this, Nick!_

_Ok now I'm laughing. It's definitely the jetlag. Please don't wake up. You haven't slept enough lately with me being in LA._

_God this is so long. You're going to take the mick about this for years._

_What I really, really want to say - yes I do have an actual point. The truth is, you could have done this by yourself. You could have had Sophie and raised her and she'd be as smart and perfect as she is. I know that because you're the strongest person I know. You're so brave. You could do this all on your own and you'd be amazing._

_But I am so so glad that you're not. I'm so glad it's me and that I get the chance to do this with you. I'm so happy. You could do this alone but you don't have to. Thank you so much for her. Thank you for this life._

_I'm yours and she's ours. I love you so much._

_Oh and happy birthday. Dad!!_

_Love,_

_HS_

Nick sets the letter down and sits very still for a while. 

He only moves when the door bursts open and Harry piles inside, shoving Sophie's pram in front of him. He's got her diaper bag over one shoulder, and the actual infant in question propped up on one arm. 

"I didn't like that doggy very much, how 'bout you," Harry's saying conversationally to Sophie, who looks grumpy, her brow furrowed. "He wasn't very nice. He growled at you like he wanted to eat you right up. You know, actually, I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl, so I shouldn't say-" 

He steps into the kitchen and catches sight of Nick. Sophie does too, and makes grabby-hands at him, pouting crankily, all ready for a feed. Hopefully Nick's tequila-free by now. 

"Hey," Nick says, trying to sound normal. "How'd your walk go? You - you alright?" 

Harry sees the letter, open on the table in front of Nick, and his eyes go soft. 

"Yeah, we're good," he says, cheeks going pink. He clutches Sophie closer like a shield. "You're okay? Feeling better at all?" 

Nick nods. He's lying a bit, though, because the next second he chokes out a little sob. Just a small one. 

"Oh, love," Harry says, dropping Sophie's bag with a clunk. 

"I'm fine," Nick says thickly, waving him off. "I'm just tired and emotional. I'd cry at like a car advert right now, honestly." 

"Nick," Harry says softly. "Here, here, take her." 

Nick accepts the offering of warm plump baby, and sniffles against the top of her head. 

"Hi, Soph," he whispers, shutting his eyes against another wave of tears. 

Sophie nestles up against his neck, right where she rests when she's done nursing, and Nick exhales slowly, breathes her in for a minute. That's it. That helps. 

"Meant it, you know," Harry says, leaning over them both and kissing Nick's temple. "Everything I wrote." 

"I know." 

"Love you," Harry whispers out. "Happy birthday." 

"S'not my birthday anymore." 

"Still counts." 

Nick shakes his head stupidly, holds Sophie tighter. He has no idea, how this is his life. No idea whatsoever. 

"Haz," he says, as Harry busies himself setting all of Sophie's things down. "We have a child." 

Harry laughs. "I know." 

"Like a human, live child. That came out of my body." 

Harry looks at him, mouth quirked gamely, like he knows how ridiculous Nick's being but he'll play along anyway. 

"We do, yeah, Nick." 

"And she's so _perfect_ ," Nick says in awe, lifting Sophie up til they're face to face. Sophie whimpers hungrily, reaches out one hand to bat at Nick's face, feet swaying in minuscule blue socks. "She's like… She's perfect. Look at her _socks_. They're so _tiny_." 

"Are you still drunk?" 

Nick glares at him. Harry laughs sheepishly. 

"I'm joking. Give her a feed, love, she was getting all whiny. She misses you. Bottle ain't the same, is it, Soph." 

"She wasn't whiny," Nick says, rocking Sophie back and forth. "She never whines. She's perfect." 

Sophie's face screws up in agony, and Nick laughs. 

"Oh, shit, she's about to have another meltdown." 

"I _told_ you," Harry says gently. "Heyyy, how 'bout I make dinner and we put Soph in her sleeper and watch a film? Give you a handjob under the blankets if you're lucky." 

"Very sixth-form," Nick says, busily tugging off his shirt with one hand and balancing Sophie with the other. Sophie's letting out choked little pre-sob breaths. "I'll take it." 

"Yeah you will." Harry kisses his cheek, helpfully takes Sophie out of his arms so Nick can get the stupid shirt off. He hands her back. They've got the routine down. "Pasta for tea sound good?" 

"God yes. Oh, shh, Soph, don't cry, please don't- here, there you are. There it is. Got nothing to cry about now, have you." 

He sits back in the chair, holds her head in place and closes his eyes. He feels it more intensely, then. The pressure of her mouth, the burn and release of it. The relief. 

"Hazza," he says, letting out a sigh. He keeps his eyes shut. 

"Yeah?" 

"You said in- in that letter that you think I could've done it alone." 

Harry stops clanking pots and pans around. Nick can feel him go still. 

"Yeah, I said that," he says thickly. 

Nick opens his eyes. He knows Harry's watching him but for a minute he doesn't look. Just watches Sophie. Her little hand is curling, uncurling against Nick's neck, eyes half-closed in bliss, throat working in deep happy swallows. 

She'll be a person, someday. A proper person who doesn't need Nick to feed her, a person who walks and talks and says sarcastic things and listens to music and has opinions on it. A person who goes out into the world without Nick. 

A person who gets hurt.

Oh, god, he won't be able to take it. He's going to be one of those nutters who breast-feeds til they're old enough to ask for it in full sentences. He's going to be _terrible_. It's going to be terrible. 

 _Don't leave me_ , he thinks, and the thought makes his throat clench hot. He chokes out a laugh. 

"Nick?" 

He glances up at Harry. Harry's got his hands clasped on the counter behind his back, his eyes wide, watching both of them. 

"Do this with me," Nick says. "Like - everything. All of this." 

Harry keeps staring.

"You've got to promise you will, okay?" Nick says shakily. "I can't. I can't do it by myself. You were wrong. Just- just promise you will."

Harry's face crumples a bit. 

"Jesus, Nick," he chokes, coming towards them, cupping Nick's face in both hands. "I already am. We're doing this. I promise." 

Nick tilts his mouth up and Harry kisses him. Simple as that. 

\---

It's a good solid minute of crying before either of them is roused by the baby monitor. 

"Harry," Nick grunts out, smacking at him. "Haz. S'your turn." 

Harry's face is pressed fully into a pillow. He doesn't answer. 

"Harry!" Nick hisses. "Get up!" 

Harry groans, turns his head a fraction. 

"Wha?" 

"Go get her," Nick says, pulling the duvet up to his neck to demonstrate how comfy and warm he is and how entirely impossible it would be for him to get up and fetch Sophie right now. 

"She needs t'be fed," Harry mutters, eyes still closed. "That's you." 

"I'm not leaving this bed." 

Harry cracks an eye open. "Nick." 

"Haz. S'my birthday."

It's not really, but Harry said it still counted about eight hours ago. It should still _still_ count.   

Harry groans for about thirty seconds straight, but he eventually pushes himself up and out of bed, stumbles out of the room. 

Nick smiles smugly into his pillow and passes out again. 

When he comes to next, he's got a crying baby in his bed and it's _still_ a hellish hour of the night. Harry's sitting up, Sophie on one knee, bouncing her gently, his hair matted around his face. She’s in a nappy and naught else. 

"Changed her," Harry says, so slow and thick it takes Nick a minute to process. "And she's still going. She needs you." 

Nick groans and turns over in bed. "Give 'er here." Sophie's crying has set off a dull ache in his chest, and he doesn't mind feeding her as long as he doesn't have to move. 

Harry kisses the side of her head, carefully sets her on Nick's belly, as Nick grabs another pillow to prop his head up. 

"Hi, darling," Nick mumbles, Sophie's face in shadow, her soft little whines loud in the quiet room. He lies her out belly-down on his own stomach, fumbles her mouth onto his chest. He sighs, too tired to be embarrassed of how relieved he sounds. "That's it, love." 

Harry slides back into bed next to them, tugs the duvet up over all of them. 

"Careful," Nick mumbles, making sure Sophie's head is above the edge of the comforter. She's so little still. Nick pets her soft downy hair, very carefully.

Harry nods, curling up on his side, yawning. 

"Don't fall back asleep," Nick warns. "I'm not taking her back to bed." 

"Mm, okay," Harry murmurs, very obviously already asleep. 

Nick shifts further down into bed, holding Sophie's tiny nappied bum close against him while he moves so she won't slip off. She's very single-minded, is Soph. Wouldn't let go of his nipple if there was a bloody earthquake two feet from her head. Nick appreciates her commitment to a good meal. 

It's fine that Harry's asleep. He'll just wait til Sophie finishes nursing, then get her straight back to the nursery and get straight back to bed. They'll all be sorted. 

Nick hums, and closes his eyes. 

He wakes up to Harry turning over in bed with a loud snore. 

"Shh," Nick mutters, batting at him with a hand, and he startles when he realizes Sophie's still on top of him. She's lying against his chest, cheek over his heart, sound asleep. 

"Oh, shit," he breathes, going very still so he won't knock her off him and then crush her tiny body. It happens. Nick's read the stories. "Ohh, love, why didn't you wake me up when you were done?" 

Sophie doesn't stir. 

Nick huffs out a laugh and takes her back to bed. 

His swaddling job is shit, but Nick feeds the bloody child from his body, so he thinks he deserves a break. It's not _defective_ or anything. Just wonky and not all streamlined like Harry does it. Sophie's happy enough with it, settling down quietly as soon as Nick puts her down.

Nick peers into her crib, and she blinks up at him steadily as she starts to drift off. It's a bit scary, the way Nick feels right then, something awful and knee-wobbling. 

He'd do anything for her. He'd probably kill someone. Not like, full-on murder, but definitely push them in front of a bus or off a cliff. Or watch while they choked on a sausage roll or something. 

He reaches down to stroke his fingers over the velvety curve of Sophie's cheek. She sighs audibly, and the sound of it is shattering. Nick clutches the crib with both hands. 

"G'night, love," he whispers. There’s nothing else to say. It’s too big. 

He's making his way back down the hallway towards the bedroom when it hits him like a punch - what it could have been like. 

This could've been Nick's life, getting up every single time Sophie cried, feeding her, putting her down - then going back to an empty, cold bed. No one to complain to or curl up next to. Just Nick.  

Alone. 

Swear to god, he's got no idea how he would have fucking survived. As it is, he's stretched thin. He's so tired he keeps seeing little shapes moving in the edges of his vision and he's nodded off during more than one endless phone conversation with his manager about going back to work. It's not his fault her voice is so soothing. 

He pauses at the door of the bedroom, peeks inside fearfully like somehow it'll all have been a dream. 

But no. There's Harry, tangled up in the duvet, his greasy hair matted against the pillow, snoring peacefully. Nick clutches the door, because his knees are still a bit wobbly, from exhaustion, from something else. This. Watching Harry sleep. 

Harry's got Sophie's exact mouth, pink and soft. That makes Nick want to cry, for some reason. 

Harry wakes up halfway when Nick crawls back into bed. He rolls over, only succeeding in twisting up the duvet even tighter, and then moans in displeasure at the sheets wrapped around his arms and waist. 

Nick huffs a laugh, gently untangles Harry from his rat's nest of bedclothes, stroking his thumb over the butterfly on Harry’s chest. 

Harry opens his eyes just slightly. 

"Morning?" he mumbles. 

"No, it's only two, go back to sleep," Nick says quietly, sliding down into bed. 

"She okay?" 

"All good," Nick murmurs, yawning, pulling the duvet up over his neck. 

Harry grumbles and reaches out, fists a hand in Nick's t-shirt. The movement's reminiscent of how Sophie grabs for him while she's nursing, blindly seeking comfort. They're both like that - entirely uncalculated, working on instinct. They both _need Nick_. Nick's so scared of that. He hates how much it scares him. 

Nick covers Harry's hand with his own, holds tight. 

"Love you," Harry mutters, his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn't let go of Nick's shirt. 

"Love you back, Haz," Nick says, unpeeling Harry's fingers slowly from the cotton. He has no idea if it'll be enough. If he'll be enough for both of them. He hopes so. "Shh, go to sleep." 

Harry's already there. 

 


End file.
